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ARISTOKIA 


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\\  t-  licw  low  and  i)as>r(l  ovtr  many  iiiterostiiisj  hiiildino'S 


ARISTOKIA 


BY 

A.  WASHINGTON  PEZET 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

TONY  SARG 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1919 


Copyright,  1919.  by 
The  Centxjby  Co. 


Published,  May,  1919 


r:^ 


TO  F.  A.  PEZET 

GOOD  FRIEND  AND  DEVOTED  FATHER 

IN  LOVING  GRATITUDE 

FOR  THE  SUGGESTIONS  AND  INSPIRATION 

WHICH  MADE  THIS  BOOK  POSSIBLE 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

We    flew    low    and    passed    over    many    interesting 

buildings Frontispiece 

Facing  page 
On  my  entrance  they  rushed  at  me  wildly  like  a  pack 

of  hounds 12 

I  was  sorry  for  the  fracas,  as  I  had  no  desire  to 

wreck  the  Wigleigh  home 72 

"Draw  a  month's  pay  in  advance  in  lieu  of  notice"  120 

I  wrote  incessantly,  for  the  baron  was  at  his  best    .  132 

Mr.  Michael  Fogarty  gave  him  a  shove  that  sent  him 

reeling 144 

"Would  your  lordship  care  to  sec  my  reference?"     .  170 

He  seized  my  arm  and  poured  out  his  heart-ache     .  176 


ARISTOKIA 


ARISTOKIA 

CHAPTER  I 

MANY  years  ago — to  be  exact,  fifty  years 
after  the  termination  of  the  great  World 
War  of  1914-19 — I,  John  Smith,  American,  had 
the  great  romance  of  my  life.  My  name  is  so 
common  that  I  must  begin  by  informing  my  read- 
ers that  I  am  that  John  Smith  who  received  the 
thanks  of  the  world  and  a  life  pension  for  discover- 
ing the  palatable  food  capsule  which  solved  the 
problem  of  the  cost  of  living  and  the  distribution 
of  edible  products.  However,  this  story  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  Smith  capsule,  with  which 
you  are  all  familiar  from  daily  use.  This  is  an 
account  of  my  personal  connection  with  certain 
historical  events. 

In  these  enlightened  times  few  persons  are  ig- 
norant of  history,  but  I  shall  briefly  outline  the 
great  events.  During  the  peace  conference  in 
Paris  in  1920,  the  world  was  suddenly  shaken  to 

3 


ARISTOKIA 

its  foundations  by  the  simultaneous  outbreak  of 
socialistic  revolutions  in  all  the  capitalistic  coun- 
tries. Everywhere  the  institutions  that  people 
had  thought  to  be  the  very  bed-rock  of  their  so- 
called  civilization  were  overthrown.  By  the  year 
1925  order  had  been  brought  out  of  chaos,  and  the 
Universal  International  Socialistic  Democracy  was 
established.  In  our  new  calendar  1925  became 
the  year  one. 

At  first  there  was  great  apprehension  of  counter- 
revolutions in  the  interest  of  the  disgruntled  aris- 
tocrats and  capitalists  of  the  various  states.  It 
soon  became  apparent,  however,  that  these  ad- 
herents of  the  old  regime  were  rather  more  of  a 
nuisance  than  an  actual  menace.  They  could 
never  agree  among  themselves,  so  that  their  re- 
peated attempts  to  regain  their  lost  powers  always 
ended  in  futile  ignominy,  crushed  by  the  ridicule 
of  the  world. 

Most  of  the  people  who  had  been  through  the 
horrors  of  the  Great  War  and  greater  Revolution 
were  too  happy  in  their  enjoyment  of  what  they 
fatuously  assumed  was  the  millennium  to  trouble 

4 


ARISTOKIA 

much  about  the  outcries  of  a  contemptible  minor- 
ity. As  the  joyous  flood  subsided,  and  the  new 
order  became  the  normal  standard  of  daily  life,  it 
became  increasingly  evident  that  even  the  opin- 
ions of  a  minority  should  be  given  a  hearing  in  an 
age  that  claimed  to  have  enthroned  the  abstract 
sense  of  justice,  and  to  have  discovered  the  moral 
law  in  the  soul  of  man.  Certainly  we  who  look 
back  in  calmness  and  fairness  on  that  period  of 
extraordinary  transition  can  extend  some  meed  of 
sympathy  to  the  downtrodden  few  whose  only  J 
fault  was  that  they  had  lived  too  long.  ' 

There  were  many  pathetic  cases.  Think  for  a 
moment  of  the  plight  of  those  estimable  ladies  of 
the  Middle  Western  States  whose  husbands  had 
amassed  fortunes,  who  had  spent  a  lifetime  in  ac- 
quiring a  taste  for  luxuries,  who  had  painstakingly 
learned  to  speak  an  English  that  was  never  heard 
on  land  or  sea,  who  had  struggled  for  years  to  for- 
get how  to  do  anything  for  themselves,  who  had  at 
last  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  mountain,  only  to 
find  that  there  was  no  mountain  and  that  all  their 
hard-earned  assets  had  become  liabilities. 

5 


ARISTOKIA 

"My  God  I  don't  we  get  our  innings?"  they 
cried. 

The  stronger  struggled;  the  weaker  curled  up 
and  died.  There  is  no  sadder  page  in  history. 
It  was  through  the  efforts  of  an  Anglo-American, 
one  George  Boggs,  son  of  the  chewing-gum  king, 
that  the  unhappy  minority  at  last  obtained  justice. 

In  the  fifth  year  of  our  era  a  tract  of  land  in 
central  Europe  was  set  aside  by  the  International 
Congress  for  the  exclusive  use  of  the  submerged 
classes.  The  territory  was  theirs  in  perpetuity, 
or,  rather,  as  long  as  one  of  them  or  one  of  their 
descendants  remained  alive  to  claim  it.  Within 
its  limits  they  could  live  as  they  pleased,  making 
their  own  laws  and  having  their  own  institutions, 
no  matter  how  reactionary  these  might  be.  From 
this  country  they  could  exclude  the  rest  of  the 
world  if  they  chose.  But  they,  in  turn,  could  not 
venture  out  of  it  without  express  permission  from 
the  International  Congress. 

Thousands  of  my  readers  have  visited  the  fam- 
ous ruins  of  Aristokia,  but  not  all  of  them  are  old 
enough  to  have  seen  tliat  wondrous  city-state  in 

6 


ARISTOKIA 

the  heyday  of  its  glory.  I  saw  it  in  all  its  tran- 
scendent picturesqueness.  And  it  was  there  that 
I  met  romance.  Her  name  was  Gwendolyn — was 
and  is,  for  she  is  now  a  very  nice  old  lady,  and  we 
are  still  living  together. 

Before  I  become  personal  I  must  tell  you  a  little 
more  about  Aristokia.  It  was  organized  much 
more  like  an  exclusive  country  club  of  the  past 
age  than  like  a  nation.  Pedigree  was  the  all-im- 
portant qualification  for  membership,  or,  rather, 
citizenship.  A  self-appointed  board  of  Royal 
Blues  passed  on  all  seeking  admission  to  Aristokia. 
From  among  themselves,  by  secret  vote,  they 
elected  an  emperor,  who  reigned  as  absolute  mon- 
arch for  five  years.  His  advisers  were  the  Royal 
Blues  and  such  others  as  he  might  appoint.  In 
all  matters  of  law,  religion,  and  etiquette  they 
were  supreme. 

Of  course  the  Royal  Blues  were  all  the  ex- 
kaisers,  -kings,  -emperors,  -czars,  and  -princes  of 
Europe,  and  their  families;  that  is,  the  German 
royalties,  for  what  royal  family  of  Europe  did  not 
have  German  blood?     These  were  the  ne  plus 

7 


ARISTOKIA 

ultra  of  the  nation.  The  hoi  polloi  was  made  up 
of  non-German  royalties,  the  lesser  nobilities,  the 
slightly  illegitimate,  and  the  army  of  expatriated 
American  millionaires.  There  was  no  working 
class  in  Aristokia.  All  labor,  whether  menial  or 
skilled,  was  contracted  for  from  the  outside  world, 
and  these  workers  lived  in  model  villages  just 
beyond  the  frontier. 

The  great  problem  for  the  Aristokians  was  that 
of  income.  Their  personal  fortunes  were  steadily 
dwindling  as  the  various  capitalistic  enterprises 
in  which  their  fortunes  were  invested  were  gradu- 
ally mutualized  or  socialized  and  taken  over  by  the 
International  Government  of  the  Workers  of  the 
World.  They  solved  their  problem  with  charac- 
teristic savoir-faire. 

For  three  months  each  year  they  opened  up 
Aristokia  to  the  tourists  of  the  world.  These 
came  in  millions,  paid  admission  to  the  country 
and  to  almost  everything  in  the  country,  and  lived 
in  the  hundred  or  so  palatial  hotels  built  for  the 
purpose  of  housing  them.  They  came  to  see  the 
magnificent  palaces  and  mansions,  which  most  of 

8 


ARISTOKIA 

you  have  known  only  as  ruins;  to  visit  the  won- 
derful museum  where  were  assembled  all  the  crown 
jewels  and  royal  relics  of  history;  to  gamble  at  the 
great  casino,  the  only  institution  of  its  kind  left 
in  the  world;  to  drink  in  the  numerous  cafes  and 
saloons,  quaint  relics  of  the  past ;  and  they  came,  I 
must  admit, — for  even  a  social  revolution  cannot 
destroy  the  snobbishness  and  love  of  ermine  and 
purple  inherent  in  human  nature, — they  came  to 
gape  at  the  great  ones,  and  to  see  the  aristocrat  in 
his  native  haunt.  To  many  the  imperial  opera, 
theater,  and  art  galleries  were  added  attractions, 
for  without  question  art,  perhaps  a  little  formal- 
ized, but  still  great  art,  flourished  in  Aristokia  as 
nowhere  else. 

Obviously  there  could  be  no  social  intercourse 
between  the  Aristokians  and  the  "nobodies,"  as 
they  termed  all  outsiders.  There  was  no  excep- 
tion to  this  rule.  The  penalty  for  infringement 
was  immediate  expulsion  for  the  offender  and  the 
ostracism  of  his  relatives  during  a  certain  period 
of  time. 

Gwendolyn  was  an  Aristokian,  the  most  beau- 

9 


ARISTOKIA 

tiful  girl  in  Aristokia.  How,  then,  did  I  meet 
her?  To  put  it  quite  brutally  and  in  the  ver- 
nacular of  a  past  age,  Gwendolyn  picked  me  up. 

It  was  in  the  forty-fifth  year  of  our  era — that 
is,  just  forty-eight  years  ago — that  I  arrived  in 
Aristokia  in  the  company  of  a  motley  crew  of 
tourists  from  all  the  corners  of  the  earth.  It  was 
the  first  week  of  the  open  season,  and  I  had 
thought  that  by  coming  early  I  could  avoid  the 
rush,  but  already  thousands  were  pouring  in. 

I  had  been  fortunate  in  securing  a  fine  front 
room  at  the  Hotel  Hohenzollern,  owned  by  the 
family  of  that  name.  It  was  quite  the  best  in 
Aristokia;  but  the  prices!  They  were  amazing. 
The  place  certainly  lived  up  to  the  ancient  reputa- 
tion of  the  robber  barons  of  Brandenburg.  I  was 
undismayed,  however,  for  I  had  just  been  granted 
my  life  pension,  and  was  feeling  opulent. 

Then,  too,  what  price  was  not  worth  paying  for 
this  experience'?  Remember,  I  was  just  thirty  I 
I  had  been  born  in  our  era.  I  knew  nothing  of 
the  old  regime  except  what  I  had  read  in  highly 
colored  literature.     Think  of  being  able  to  step 

lO 


ARISTOKIA 

into  the  past  I  I  crossed  an  imaginary  line,  and 
half  a  century  vanished  before  my  eyes.  And 
what  a  half-century  it  had  been,  filled  with  more 
momentous  changes  than  any  that  had  occurred 
in  a  similar  period  of  time  in  the  world's  history  I 

Try   to   conceive   a   world   of   kings,   princes, 
nobles,  wives,  and  courtezans;  a  world  in  which  a 
gambling  casino,  a  stock-market,  saloons,  and  beer-  I 
gardens,  generals,  admirals,  and  millionaires  were  | 
realities.     Try  to  picture  to  yourself  a  state  in 
which  the  institution  of  marriage  existed  in  all  its 
archaic  potency;  a  world  in  which  women  did  not  • 
vote  and  in  which  their  equality  with  men  was 
unrecognized;  in  which  man  must  take  the  initi- 
ative in  all  matters  of  sex;  a  deliciously  quaint 
world  of  marriages,  scandals,  divorces,  and  duels  I 

I  shall  never  forget  my  feelings  on  my  arrival 
at  the  Hotel  Hohenzollern.  Everything  was 
strange  and  new  to  me.  It  was  not  that  the  build- 
ing differed  in  outward  appearance  from  the  aver- 
age New  York  hotel.  The  difference  was  more 
subtle;  it  was  decorative  rather  than  architectural.  / 
In  New  York  at  that  time  utilitarianism  was  ram- 

11 


ARISTOKIA 

pant.  Either  an  austere,  sanitary  simplicity  was 
the  fashion  or  a  wild,  bizarre  Russianism,  the  heri- 
tage of  the  Revolution.  But  in  Aristokia  there 
was  a  real  feeling  for,  an  understanding  of,  beauty. 

The  lobby  of  the  Hotel  Hohenzollern  was  beau- 
tiful. The  first  thing  that  struck  me  was  the  total 
absence  of  all  our  well-known  mechanical  appli- 
ances and  contraptions  for  handling  baggage  and 
securing  accommodations.  Instead,  the  most  con- 
spicuous feature  was  a  regiment  of  youths  in  fine 
uniforms.  On  my  entrance  these  rushed  at  me 
wildly  like  a  pack  of  hounds.  For  an  instant  I 
recoiled ;  then,  as  they  took  my  hand  baggage  from 
me,  I  realized  that  while  they  might  be  bent  on 
robbery,  their  intention  was  not  assault. 

"This  way,  sir,"  said  the  youth  who  had  hold 
of  my  pet  bag.  To  be  addressed  as  "sir"  was  a 
new  experience  for  me.  I  took  a  fancy  to  the 
youth.  He  led  the  way  toward  a  spot  where  a 
dense  mass  of  people,  other  tourists,  were  gathered 
before  a  sort  of  marble  altar,  behind  which  certain 
lofty  dignitaries  hovered  majestically.  We  stood 
in  the  crowd  and  patiently  awaited  our  turn  to 

12 


On  my  entrance  they  ruslied  at  me  wildly  like  a  pack  of  hounds 


ARISTOKIA 

gain  the  ear  of  the  dispenser  of  accommodations, 
who,  I  later  discovered,  was  called  the  room  clerk. 
Over  the  altar  was  suspended  a  neat  gilt  sign  that 
read,  "British-American  Room  Clerk."  Farther 
along  were  signs  in  French,  Spanish,  German,  and 
other  languages.  The  uniformed  youth  caught 
my  eye  and  remarked : 

"The  sign  used  to  read,  'English  Room  Clerk,' 
but  the  Americans,  Australians,  and  Canadians  ob- 
jected; so  it  was  changed  to  that." 

I  smiled. 

"And  we  thought  nationalism  was  dead,"  I  re- 
marked aloud. 

"The  Irish  still  object,"  said  the  youth  at  my 
side. 

My  turn  arrived,  and  I  approached  the  altar. 
The  high  priest — room  clerk,  I  should  say — looked 
at  me  intently.  It  confused  me,  and  I  forgot  what 
I  had  planned  to  say.  I  had  never  been  looked 
at  in  this  way  before.  The  fellow  had  an  X-ray 
eye  that  seemed  to  penetrate  my  clothes.  It  was 
most  embarrassing.  When  at  last  I  spoke,  he 
turned  away  from  me  and  entered  into  a  lively 

13 


ARISTOKIA 

conversation  with  another  clerk  who  had  simul- 
taneously turned  away  from  the  stout  man  at  my 
right.  I  looked  at  my  uniformed  attendant,  and 
he  smiled  at  me  sympathetically.  The  room  clerk 
was  talking  volubly  with  his  friend  and  laughing. 
His  accent  was  American.     This  gave  me  an  idea. 

"I  'm  an  American,"  I  shouted. 

The  only  effect  of  this  outburst  was  to  inspire 
the  stout  man  on  my  right  to  bellow,  "I  'm  Eng- 
lish." 

"Decidedly,  nationalism  is  not  dead,"  I  thought. 

Suddenly  the  clerk  stopped  laughing,  and  turned 
to  me  wearily.     He  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"What  would  you  like  to  pay*?  "  he  asked. 

"Very  little,"  I  replied,  which  I  thought  rather 
good. 

He  smiled  wanly.  "I  have  a  front  room  on 
the  tenth  floor  for  fifteen  dollars." 

"A  week"?"  I  asked,  delighted  and  surprised. 

The  clerk  said  something  to  his  friend  about  the 
boring  nature  of  professional  humorists,  and  re- 
marked in  a  far-away  voice,  tinged  with  melan- 
choly : 


ARISTOKIA 

"A  day.  And  that 's  without  foodj"  he  added 
quickly  as  I  was  about  to  speak. 

"Have  n't  you  anything  cheaper^" 

"Yes;  back  room,  twelve  dollars.  You  won't 
like  it." 

"All  right,"  I  replied  meekly. 

The  clerk  pushed  a  book  toward  me,  a  thing  of 
colossal  size,  and  said,  "Register,"  which  opera- 
tion consisted  in  writing,  "John  Smith,  New  York, 
U.  S.  A." 

The  clerk  looked  at  it,  and  smiled  at  me  enig- 
matically. I  did  not  understand  that  smile  at  the 
time,  but  the  next  day  I  remembered  it  vividly. 

The  clerk  handed  a  key  to  one  of  my  young  men 
in  uniform,  and  I  was  led  to  the  elevators  and 
whisked  up  to  my  room. 

The  two  boys  placed  my  bags  on  benches,  un- 
strapped them,  opened  one  window,  closed  another, 
turned  on  the  electric  light  in  the  bath-room, 
showed  me  the  closets,  and  asked  me  most  solici- 
tously and  in  a  most  kindly  and  charming  manner 
if  I  thought  I  should  be  comfortable.  I  assured 
them  that  everything  was  delightful;  but  as  they 

15 


ARISTOKIA 

made  no  move  to  go,  I  thought  to  be  polite  and 
asked  them  to  sit  down.  They  thanked  me  pro- 
fusely, but  explained  that  such  action  would  not 
be  consistent  with  their  duties.  There  followed 
a  pause,  broken  by  a  remark  that  they  had  made 
before,  "Anything  else,  sir^"  I  liked  that  "sir." 
Then  they  held  out  their  hands.  I  shook  hands 
with  each  of  them  in  turn.  They  looked  annoyed. 
I  was  wondering  in  what  way  I  had  offended  them 
when  I  noticed  that  they  were  pointing  in  an  off- 
hand manner  to  a  large  sign  on  the  back  of  the 
door.     It  read  as  follows : 

IMPERIAL  EDICT  NO.  313 

Within  the  Territories  of  the  Aristokian  Em- 
pire Tipping  (The  voluntary  donation  of  a  gratuity 
to  a  servitor)  Is  Customary  and  Obligatory.  It 
Will  Be  Incumbent  upon  All  Persons  Accepting 
AND  Enjoying  the  Hospitality  of  the  Realm  to 
Comply  with  All  the  Rules  and  Regulations  Con- 
cerning Tipping  Which  Constitute  the  Spirit  and 
Letter  of  This  Edict.  Failure  so  to  Do  Will  Sub- 
ject Them  to  Arrest  and  Prosecution  According  to 
the  By-Law  Here  Appended. 

Otto,  Rex  Imperator. 
16 


ARISTOKIA 

By-Law  No.  175B: 

Any  One  Found  Guilty  in  the  Imperial  Courts 
OF  A  Violation  of  Imperial  Edict  No.  313  Will  Be 
Fined  Not  Less  than  $500  and  Not  More  than  $1,- 
000,  or  Expelled  from  the  Realm  or  Both. 

Prince  Von  Hohenlohe, 
Imp.  Sect. 

rules  and  regulations  a  violation  of  which  will 
constitute  an   infraction  of  the  edict 

10  per  cent,  (ten  per  centum)  of  the  amount  of  the 
charge  for  the  service  rendered  is  the  MINIMUM  TIP 
allowable.  Smaller  amounts  will  be  refused,  and  the 
mere  act  of  offering  such  a  smaller  amount  will  be  inter- 
preted as  a  violation  of  Edict  No.  313. 

MINIMUM  SCALE  OF  FIXED  TIPS 

MINIMUM 

servitor  service  rendered  tip 

Bell-boys  Showing  guest  to  room  ....  Each  $0.50 

(lOc  extra  for  each  bag.) 
Bell-boys  Any  other  no-charge  service  Each       .25 

Valet  Packing  and  unpacking,  per  trunk     2.50 

Valet  Packing  and  unpacking,  per  bag.      I.OO 

Valet  Advice     regarding     sartorial     or 

other  matters   i.OO 

Coat-check  boy     Per  garment  checked 25 

Wash-room  boy  Handing   towel    05 

17 


ARISTOKIA 

Wash-room  boy  Preparing  water 05 

Wash-room  boy  Dusting  off  with  whisk-broom.  .  .        .10 
Elevator  boys       (Except  first  trip  to   room)   per 

floor  &  trip 01* 

*(From  first  to  tenth  floor  same 

rate  as  to  tenth  floor.) 
Guests  sojourning  in  the  hotel 
one  week  or  more  will  pay  the  fol- 
lowing weekly: 

Chambermaids      2.00 

Room  waiters       1.00 

This  is  an  extra  and  does  not 
exempt  from  regular  10  per 
cent,  charge  for  meals. 

I  turned  away  from  the  sign,  abashed;  I  was 
blushing  furiously.     I  fumbled  in  my  pockets. 

"Are  you  bell-boys^"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  sir,"  they  replied  in  unison. 

What  sensitive  little  fellows  they  were  I  How 
tactfully  they  had  called  my  attention  to  the  edict ! 
I  gave  them  each  double  the  legal  minimum  in 
compensation  for  my  stupidity.  I  had  still  much 
to  learn.  They  said,  "Thank  you,  sir,"  and  bowed 
themselves  out. 

I  was  about  to  unpack  when  a  knock  at  the  door 
arrested  me.     I   opened   it.     A  person   entered, 

18 


ARISTOKIA 

bowing  obsequiously.  He  was  in  civilian  dress, 
but  of  an  odd  cut.  I  remembered  that  I  had  seen 
persons  in  illustrations  in  old  novels  wearing  simi- 
lar clothes.  The  thing  he  had  on  was  called  a 
cutaway. 

He  informed  me  that  he  was  the  valet  and  in- 
sisted on  unpacking  my  bags  for  me.  I  let  him 
do  it,  a  bit  frightened  and  apologetic.  He  took 
all  my  suits  away  with  him, — they  needed  tailor- 
ing, he  explained.  I  thanked  him  and  over-tipped 
him.  He,  too,  called  me  "sir."  I  thrilled  to  the 
base  of  my  democratic  spine. 

The  valet  had  imparted  to  me  the  valuable  in- 
formation that  eight  o'clock  p.  m.  (Twenty 
o'clock,  our  time.  The  Aristokians  still  reckoned 
time  in  the  old  way)  was  the  fashionable  hour  at 
which  to  dine. 

As  it  was  then  only  half-past  seven,  I  sat  down 
near  a  window  to  think.  So  many  impressions 
had  struck  my  consciousness  in  pell-mell  confusion 
that  I  felt  the  urgent  need  of  a  quiet  moment 
alone  in  which  to  coordinate,  classify,  and  stow 
away  in  the  proper  pigeonholes  of  my  brain  the 

19 


r 


ARISTOKIA 

totally  new  and,  to  me,  extraordinarily  fascinat- 
ing data  of  experience. 

I  thought  of  the  bell-boys,  and  the  valet.  How 
strange  it  must  be  to  earn  a  living  by  serving 
others  I  Yet  they  seemed  perfectly  happy.  But 
why  should  n't  they  be?  They  must  make  a  for- 
tune in  tips. 

My  mind  drifted  to  the  room  clerk.  What  an 
odd  person!  How  unnecessarily  rude  he  had 
seemed  I  And  yet  was  it  rudeness?  As  the 
weeks  passed,  and  I  became  a  fixture  at  the  hotel,  I 
came  to  know  that  clerk  well,  and  his  manner  to 
me  was  subsequently  delightfully  cordial.  At  the 
time  of  my  meditation  I  had  not  grasped  the  fact 
that  persons  who  deal  with  humanity  in  bulk  have 
to  adopt  some  form  of  protective  armor.  The 
clerk's  manner  reminded  me  of  anecdotes  told  by 
my  grandmother  of  the  two  weeks  she  had  once 
spent  in  New  York. 

My  gaze  wandered  out  of  the  window  and  over 
the  great  city.  Its  white  palaces  were  bathed  in 
the  warm  glow  of  an  evening  sun.  The  green 
lace-work  of  foliage  intervened  everywhere,  soft- 

20 


ARISTOKIA 

ening  the  outlines  of  buildings.  In  no  matter 
what  direction  one  looked,  a  picture  perfect  in  com- 
position unfolded  to  the  eye.  There  was  not  one 
discordant  note  in  all  that  symphony  of  line  and 
curve,  marble  and  stone.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  all 
the  beauty  in  our  esthetically  starved  world  had 
been  concentrated  here.  When  I  thought  of  what 
the  proletariat  had  done  I  shivered. 

Dinner  I  found  to  be  a  fascinating  ceremony, 
a  rite  both  artistic  and  religious.  It  was  not  what 
it  is  fast  becoming  among  us,  an  act  of  bodily  hy- 
giene, such  as  washing  one's  teeth  or  gargling. 
God  forgive  me  for  having  helped  to  make  it  that 
by  discovering  the  capsule ! 

I  sat  at  a  table  on  which  there  were  flowers, 
silverware,  fine  china,  and  glass.  The  room  was 
carpeted,  softly  lighted,  and  beautiful.  And  oh, 
the  joy  I  experienced  at  being  waited  on  by  a  real 
servant,  one  who  was  human  enough  to  forget  part 
of  my  order  I  My  order  I  Ah,  the  bliss  of  it,  to 
eat  food,  and  not  be  obliged  to  swallow  one  of  m)^ 
own  capsules  in  a  glass  of  water,  jerked  at  me  by 
an  automatic,  hygienic  contrivance. 

21 


)  . 


ARISTOKIA 

After  a  delicious  meal,  washed  down  by  wine, 
the  first  I  had  ever  tasted,  I  sipped  my  coffee,  look- 
ing about  me  and  smoking  an  excellent  cigar.     It 
was  a  source  of  great  satisfaction  to  be  able  to 
smoke  without  fear  of  arrest.     The  constitutional 
amendment  prohibiting  the  use  of  tobacco  in  all 
forms  in  the  United  States  had  just  been  ratified 
and   made   effective,    and   during   the   preceding 
months  I  had  been  very  miserable.     On  one  occa- 
sion, when  some  friends  were  smokinii  with  me  in 
jmy  apartment,  some  one  had  reported  smoke  issu- 
|ing  from  my  windows.     Rather  than  confess  the 
'truth  and  risk  imprisonment,  it  being  my  second 
'  offense,  we  had  let  ourselves  be  deluged  by  the  fire 
department. 

At  that  time,  too,  the  agitation  for  the  sup- 
pression of  tea  and  coffee  as  drugs  had  just  begun. 
I  wondered  as  I  sat  in  the  dining-room,  watching 
the  proletariat  doing  all  the  things  they  were  not 
allowed  to  do  in  their  democratic  paradise,  how 
long  these  repressions  of  the  individual  will  would 
last.  The  frightful  reaction  now  setting  in  was 
plainly  forecast  then. 

22 


ARISTOKIA 

I  observed  the  table  manners  of  my  compatriots. 
No  wonder  there  were  faddists  who  claimed  that 
all  public  eating  was  indecent. 

When  I  paid  my  bill,  I  overtipped  the  waiter 
grandly,  and  then  I  strolled  out  to  the  Kaiser  Wil- 
helm  II  Platz  and  turned  down  the  Boulevard 
Romanoff  in  the  direction  of  the  Imperial  Opera- 
House. 

I  heard  Wagner's  "Tristan  und  Isolde."  How 
beautiful,  melodic,  and  tuneful  it  seemed  to  me  I 
What  a  relief  after  the  noisy  disharmonies  of  the 
Chinaman,  Wu  Swang  Chang,  then  so  much  the 
rage  in  other  parts  of  the  world. 

I  was  seated  in  an  orchestra  chair  toward  the 
left  of  the  auditorium,  at  the  foot  of  one  of  the 
grand-tier  boxes.  During  the  first  intermission 
I  looked  about  me  curiously.  The  greater  part  of 
the  audience  was  composed  of  tourists.  Aristo- 
kians  did  not  attend  the  opera  much  during  the 
open  season ;  only  a  few  of  the  private  boxes  were 
occupied. 

Suddenly  I  became  aware  of  a  perceptible  stir,  a 
murmur  and  buzz  of  voices  such  as  is  caused  in  a 

23 


ARISTOKIA 

crowd  by  its  concentration  on  a  common  object. 
I  turned,  moved  by  the  general  impulse,  in  the 
direction  of  the  nearest  box  to  my  left. 

There  stood  a  dapper  creature  in  gorgeous  uni- 
form of  blue  and  gold,  his  bosom  resplendent  with 
decorations.  He  had  a  black  mustache,  and  eyes 
that  burned  with  the  deep  glow  of  banked  fires. 
His  manner  was  graceful  and  courtly  to  an  extraor- 
dinary degree.  The  crowd  seemed  tremendously 
impressed.     I  wondered  if  it  could  be  the  emperor. 

The  other  occupants  of  the  box  were  a  middle- 
aged  man  with  a  monocle,  a  stout  woman  buried 
in  jewels,  which  seemed  to  hang  about  her  like  a 
parasitic  growth  of  vines  on  a  tropical  tree,  and 
a  young  woman  who  sat  with  her  back  to  the 
audience.  She  had  rather  lovely  arms  and  shoul- 
ders. The  effulgent  military  gentleman  bowed 
low,  kissed  her  hand,  and  departed. 

She  turned,  and  I  became  acutely  aware  of 
brown  eyes  and  reddish-golden  hair.  She  looked 
at  me  steadily,  unflinchingly,  but  in  a  somewhat 
impersonal  manner  that  was  new  to  me,  and  which 
made  me  willing,  even  anxious,  to  return  her  gaze. 

24 


ARISTOKIA 

Ordinarily  I  would  have  turned  away.  I  was 
rather  fed  up  on  that  sort  of  thing.  In  America  I 
had  received  many  offers  of  mating ;  in  fact,  I  had 
been  pursued  by  females  most  annoyingly. 

Now  that  I  am  an  old  man  and  can  speak 
with  aloofness  of  myself  as  I  was  in  those  days, 
I  feel  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  I  was  cursed,  or 
blessed,  as  you  will,  with  good  looks.  I  stood  six 
feet  unshod.  I  was  the  perfect  Nordic  type  por- 
trayed with  such  persistence  in  the  popular  novels 
of  Robert  W.  Chambers  and  other  writers  for  the 
bourgeoisie  of  the  early  twentieth  century.  One 
of  the  principal  reasons  for  my  visit  to  Aristokia 
had  been  to  find  surcease  from  the  importunities 
to  which  I  had  been  subjected. 

During  the  immortal  love  duet  I  found  myself 
listening  to  Wagner  with  my  ears  while  I  scanned 
her  very  beautiful  face  with  my  eyes. 

When  the  curtain  fell  for  the  second  intermis- 
sion, she  rose  and  left  the  box.  I  suddenly  real- 
ized that  I  must  take  a  stroll  in  the  foyer  to  see 
the  crowd  to  advantage.  But  the  crowd  did  not 
interest  me  much.     Such  a  mob  of  tourists,  all 

25 


ARISTOKIA 

gaping  at  one  another  in  their  avid  quest  for 
Aristokians  I 

Then  she  passed  me,  and  I  wheeled  and  fol- 
lowed her.  What  carriage  I  What  a  stride  I 
She  was  an  Anglo-Saxon;  I  felt  sure  of  it.  Some- 
thing about  her  easy,  swinging  gait  suggested  New 
York  to  me. 

At  the  end  of  the  foyer  she  turned,  and  passed 
me  again.  As  she  did,  something  small  and  white 
rustled  to  the  floor,  a  little  piece  of  paper.  I 
picked  it  up  and  read: 

Mr.  Smith  :  Stop  flirting  with  me.  Do  you  ever 
walk  in  the  Bois  Bourbon,  along  the  path  that  leads  to  the 
statue  of  Marie  Antoinette?  It  is  very  nice  there  some- 
times, at  about  half-past  nine  in  the  morning. 

The  note  filled  me  with  dread  and  delight. 
Perhaps  that  paradox  needs  explaining.  She  had 
addressed  me  by  name;  evidently  she  knew  that  I 
was  Smith,  the  Smith  of  capsule  fame.  This  was 
pleasantly  disconcerting;  I  had  thought  myself 
safely  incognito  in  Aristokia.  But  she  had  not 
asked  me  to  mate  with  her  or  marry  her.     She  had 

26 


ARISTOKIA 

accused  me  of  flirting  I  What  did  I  know  of  that 
subtle  art,  I  who  had  always  run  away? 

When  I  returned  to  my  seat  for  the  third  act  I 
sought  her  eyes  eagerly.  She  looked  through  me 
and  beyond  me  without  the  faintest  flicker  of  in- 
terest in  my  existence.  At  the  end  of  the  opera 
she  swept  by  me  haughtily,  stepped  into  her  wait- 
ing airplane,  and  flew  away  skyward  without  so 
much  as  a  glance  in  my  direction.  This  was  a 
new  experience. 

In  my  room  at  the  HohenzoUern  I  reread  her 
note.  My  dread  vanished,  and  my  delight  in- 
creased by  leaps  and  bounds.  She  was  different. 
She  was  not  like  any  of  the  women  I  had  known — 
women  from  whom  one  fled  in  instinctive  dread  of 
losing  one's  sacred  liberty.  She  had  been  brought 
up  and  educated  in  the  prerevolutionary  ambient 
of  Aristokia. 

Her  note  promised,  and  j^et  it  did  not  promise. 
Here  at  last  was  the  flavor  of  the  past.  Here  at 
last  were  romance  and  adventure  come  into  my 
life.  Here  was  a  woman  with  whom.  I  could  take 
the  initiative,  one  who  had  maidenly  reserve  and 

27 


ARISTOKIA 

a  sense  of  modesty,  one  who  was  not  forward  or 
aggressive.  A  visit  to  the  Bois  Bourbon  at  half- 
past  nine  would  prove  delectable,  I  felt  sure. 

I  undressed  slowly,  thinking  of  that  prerevolu- 
tionary  period  before  the  world  had  become  safe 
for  democracy  and  unsafe  for  males.  The  civil- 
ized period,  they  had  called  it.  What  a  simple 
age  it  had  been !  Then  the  sex  problem  had  been 
almost  unknown. 

How  different  is  this  complex  age!  Man's 
position  to-day  has  become  well-nigh  intolerable. 
I  feel  confident  in  asserting  that  half  of  the  un- 
rest and  unhappiness  to-day  is  the  direct  result  of 
the  inequality  of  the  sexual  relations.  In  theory 
men  and  women  are  equal,  and  either  may  be  the 
aggressor;  but  in  practice  what  happens?  No 
man  has  the  slightest  chance  to  be  the  aggressor. 
Woman  always  usurps  the  initiative.  Man  is  ter- 
ribly handicapped.  Through  centuries  of  cultiva- 
tion of  the  art  of  chivalry  by  our  forefathers  it 
has  become  an  instinct  in  present-day  man.  Few 
men  are  able  to  say  "No"  to  a  woman.  When 
marriage  existed,  a  man  could  at  least  let  his  wife 

28 


ARISTOKIA 

divorce  him  and  be  rid  of  her  in  a  courteous  man- 
ner. But  now  that  a  mating  can  be  legally  ter- 
minated by  the  mere  public  expression  of  the  will 
to  do  so  on  the  part  of  either  contracting  party,  no 
man  with  decent  feelings  can  ever  rid  himself  of  a 
woman.    The  result  is  bondage,  life-long  bondage. 

The  more  I  saw  of  Aristokia,  the  more  I  realized  v 
that  those  were  the  good  old  days  for  us  males.         -^ 


29 


CHAPTER  II 

IT  was  a  glorious  morning  of  early  summer. 
The  view  from  my  windows  sent  the  blood 
throbbing  through  my  veins  with  the  promise  of 
unknown  delights.  Adventure  was  in  the  air,  and 
romance  in  my  heart.  I  had  intended  walking, 
but  when  told  at  the  information  bureau  that  the 
Bois  Bourbon  was  in  the  western  extremity  of  the 
city,  my  impatience  obliged  me  to  don  my  auto- 
peds  and  roll  away  more  speedily. 

I  arrived  at  the  appointed  spot  and  thought  my- 
self in  the  heaven  of  the  ancients.  Beneath  the 
statue  of  Marie  Antoinette  was  a  curved  marble 
bench  on  which  I  sat.  Before  me  unfolded  an 
illimitable  vista  of  exquisite  landscape  gardening, 
paths,  shrubs,  trees,  fountains,  statues,  and 
flowers  in  beautiful  arrangement.  Birds  twit- 
tered, and  the  cool,  soft  air  was  heavy  with  the 
scent  of  a  million  blossoms. 

30 


ARISTOKIA 

I  was  alone.  Not  a  soul  was  in  sight.  God 
forgive  me  for  uttering  the  heresy,  but  how  one  of 
our  crowds  would  have  spoilt  it  all  I  The  broth- 
erhood of  man,  all  our  precious  theories,  how  silly 
they  seemed  to  me  then ! 

From  musing  I  passed  to  rehearsing  my  forth- 
coming meeting  with  her,  and  then  back  to  musing. 
I  must  have  kept  this  up  for  nearly  half  an  hour. 
Suddenly  she  appeared  before  me  more  radiant 
than  I  had  dreamed  her. 

But  I  had  over-rehearsed  the  scene.  No  woman 
had  ever  kept  me  waiting  before,  and  the  novelty 
of  the  thing  upset  my  well-laid  plans.  I  rose 
speechless,  and  stood  gaping  inanely. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Smith,"  she  said  cheerily. 

"Good  morning.  Miss — er — Lady — Princess," 
I  stammered,  mentally  registering,  "Not  Miss, 
you  fool.     Of  course  she  has  a  title." 

"Gwendolyn,"  she  said.  "Silly  name,  is  n't  it9 
What's  )^ours^" 

"John." 

"I  '11  call  you  Jack.  But  what 's  your  sur- 
name *?" 

31 


ARISTOKIA 

"My  surname?" 

"Yes,  your  real  name." 

"My  real  name?"  I  was  stupefied.  "You 
know  it,"  I  asserted. 

"Not  Smith,  not  John  Smith?"  She  looked  at 
me  incredulously. 

"Yes."  Why  did  she  pretend  not  to  know  me 
now,  I  wondered. 

She  was  laughing  deliciously. 

"That 's  really  very  funny,"  she  said  at  last. 
"You  know,  it 's  our  nickname  for  you.  In  Aris- 
tokia  we  call  all  the  Nobodies,  the  outsiders,  John 
Smith." 

I  was  utterly  crushed.  My  pride  lay  at  my  feet 
in  a  million  pieces. 

"I  had  thought  you  might  have  heard  of  me," 
I  said  plaintively.  "I  am  the  inventor  John 
Smith — Capsule  John  Smith,"  I  added,  trying  to 
piece  together  the  remnants  of  my  shattered 
vanity. 

"Not  the  inventor  of  the  detestable  food  cap- 
sule!" 

"Digestible,  not  detestable,"  I  interposed. 
32 


ARISTOKIA 

"It 's  all  the  same.  It 's  a  beastly  invention. 
You  have  destroyed  one  of  the  fine  arts,  and  re- 
duced an  esthetic  pleasure  to  a  vulgar  necessity. 
We  never  use  the  thing  here.     We  eat  food." 

"I  like  food,  myself,  Gwendolyn." 

She  smiled  her  approval. 

"Shall  we  walk?  If  you  know  how,"  she 
added,  with  a  disdainful  glance  at  my  auto-peds. 

"I  wore  them  so  that  I  could  come  to  you 
quickly,  Gwendolyn,"  I  said  as  I  removed  the  ob- 
jectionable machines  and  slung  them  over  my 
shoulder. 

As  we  turned  into  a  shady  pathway  I  became 
awkwardly  aware  of  the  presence  of  a  third  per- 
son, an  unprepossessing,  scrawny  little  female 
dressed  hideously  in  black.  She  walked  at  our 
heels  like  a  dog.  She  made  me  horribly  uncom- 
fortable and  silent. 

"Have  n't  you  anything  nice  to  say  to  me, 
Jack'?" 

"A  million  things,"  I  answered  fervently. 

"Then  you  'd  better  begin.  You  know,  I  am 
risking  everything  to  talk  to  you.     It  is  expulsion 

33 


ARISTOKIA 

from  paradise  to  your  capsule  world,  if  we  are 
caught,  and  poor  mama  and  papa  will  be  ostra- 
cized for  months,  and  you  '11  have  to  pay  an  enor- 
mous fine,  Mr.  Smith." 

"Then  why  did  you  bring  her  along?"  I  tried  to 
whisper. 

"Who?" 

I  tactfully  and,  I  think,  nonchalantly  indicated 
the  annoying  female  behind  us. 

"That 's  Fraulein,  my  chaperon." 

"Yes,  but—" 

I  was  about  to  ask  if  she  could  be  trusted,  when 
Gwendolyn  continued : 

"She  is  blind,  dumb,  and  deaf."  I  looked  at 
the  amazing  female  in  astonishment.  "She  is 
non-existent." 

I  was  awed.  Could  she  possibly  be  a  creation 
of  my  subjective  mind"? 

"She  is  the  symbol  of  a  sacred  convention.  She 
is  always  with  me,  ready  to  serve.  You  will  no- 
tice that  she  is  dressed  in  black,  like  the  property- 
man  in  the  Chinese  drama,  visible  in  theory,  in- 
visible in  fact." 

34 


ARISTOKIA 

"You  mean  the  other  way  around,  don't  you, 
Gwendolyn^" 

"It 's  all  the  same.  You  '11  soon  get  used  to 
her." 

"Never,"  I  said,  with  sincerity. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  will,  when  you  see  how  beauti- 
fully it  works.  It  simplifies  everything.  Her 
presence  satisfies  the  theory  and  leaves  me  free  as 
to  the  facts.  I  could  n't  let  you  make  love  to  me 
if  anything  happened  to  Fraulein." 

"You  mean  I  '11  have  to  do  it  in  front  of  her^" 

"Of  course.  All  our  affairs  and  liaisons  are 
chaperoned  in  Aristokia." 

"Oh,  Lord!" 

"Royal  princesses  have  two  chaperons ;  the  em- 
press, three." 

"In  case  one  of  them  dies  on  the  job*?" 

"You  put  it  so  prettily!" 

For  several  seconds  we  walked  on  in  silence; 
then  I  asked:  "Aren't  you  a  royal  princess, 
Gwendolyn?" 

"Oh,  no!  My  ancestors  were  English  and 
American.     Papa  is  Baron  Wigleigh,  but  we  have 

n  r 


ARISTOKIA 

certain  privileges  because  he  is  descended  from 
George  Boggs,  who  made  all  this  possible,"  she 
said,  with  a  wave  of  her  hand  that  was  meant  to 
include  all  of  Aristokia. 

Boggs !  Chewing  gum  I  They  associated  them- 
selves in  my  mind.  Now  I  understood  the 
coat  of  arms  on  the  box  at  the  opera  and  on  her 
airplane,  a  luxuriant  grove  of  rubber-trees,  in  the 
center  of  which  stood  a  knight  in  shining  armor, 
in  his  right  hand  held  high  a  golden  spear  with 
diamond  head,  his  left  arm  protectingly  about  a 
maiden  coyly  dressed  in  mint  leaves.  It  had  puz- 
zled me  considerably. 

"I  may  become  an  empress  by  marriage,  you 
know." 

My  heart  sank. 

"Are  you  thinking  of  getting  married*?" 

"Of  course.     Every  girl  does." 

"I  mean  concretely.     Is  there  some  one?" 

"Mama  and  papa  want  me  to  marry  the  Chin- 
less  One.     It 's  the  ambition  of  their  lives." 

"The  Chinless  One!"  I  echoed. 

"That 's   my   nickname    for   Prince    Wilhelm 

36 


ARISTOKIA 

HohenzoUern.  Have  n't  you  seen  him^  Oh, 
he  's  wonderful  I  His  face  ducks  under  his  lower 
lip  and  runs  down  to  meet  his  Adam's  apple.  His 
grandfather  lost  the  Battle  of  Verdun,  escaped  to 
Holland,  was  interned,  and  later  surrendered  to 
the  Allies;  but  he  has  the  bluest  blood  in  Aristokia. 
He  's  the  emperor-elect." 

"And  your  parents  want  to  sacrifice  you^  you, 
the  most  beautiful  specimen  in  Aristokia,  to  that — 
that  product  of  a  blight  I"  I  was  burning  with 
indignation.     "It 's  an  outrage." 

"I  love  your  agricultural  way  of  putting  things, 
Jack." 

"It  is  n't  agriculture.     It 's  eugenics." 

"But  that 's  just  the  point;  that 's  how  I  may  be 
allowed  to  marry  him.  Heretofore  Royal  Blues 
have  been  allowed  to  marry  only  Royal  Blues. 
Now  there  is  a  tremendous  effort  being  made  to 
change  that,  so  that  I  may  be  the  mother  of  kings." 

"Don't  I"  I  groaned. 

Gwendolyn  then  explained  to  me  at  length  that 
the  German  princesses,  by  a  strange  trick  of  nature, 
had  been  having  an  extraordinary  proportion  of 

37 


ARISTOKIA 

male  children,  the  just  retribution  for  Wilhelm 
II's  vain  boast  that  the  virile  German  race  would 
quickly  recover  from  the  effects  of  the  Great  War 
by  its  well-known  habit  of  having  an  excess  of 
male  over  female  offspring.  At  that  time  only 
one  princess  of  the  royal  blood  was  left,  the  Prin- 
cess Sophia.  She  was  anemic,  and  even  more 
chinless  than  Willy.  The  learned  doctors  had 
shaken  their  heads  dubiously  at  mention  of  the 
union,  with  grave  fears  for  the  future  of  the  race. 

As  the  result  of  this  a  political  party  had  arisen 
which  thought  that  expediency  demanded  an  in- 
fusion of  new  blood  in  the  person  of  Gwendolyn. 
The  fight  was  at  its  height  at  that  time. 

"What  does  Willy  say?"  I  asked. 

"He  does  n't  care.     He  's  a  trifle  queer." 

"And  you,  Gwendolyn?" 

"Oh,  I  keep  an  open  mind  in  the  daytime  and 
look  at  the  stars  by  night." 

Just  then  the  intruding  female  in  the  rear,  whose 
presence  I  had  actually  forgotten,  uttered  a  gut- 
tural sound  of  warning  in  German,  and  Gwen- 
dolyn turned  to  me  with  outstretched  hand. 

38 


ARISTOKIA 

"Good-by,  Mr.  Smith.  I  must  leave  you  now. 
Some  one  is  coming.  So  put  on  your  little  wheels 
and  roll  away." 

"Shall  I  see  you  again,  Gwendolyn*?" 

"If  you  have  eyes,  Jackie."  She  turned  and 
left  me. 

I  wanted  to  inhale  the  vision  of  her  lithe  young 
body  as  she  strolled  away  with  that  marvelous, 
self-reliant  gait  of  hers,  sex-conscious  and  yet  un- 
conscious. What  a  woman!  How  tantalizingly 
she  had  mixed  up  her  Jacks  and  Mr.  Smiths !  I 
was  in  that  state  of  mind  when  every  Jack  meant 
"you  are  mine,"  and  every  Mr.  Smith  evoked  the 
image  of  a  cosmic  capsule  forever  separating  us. 
Would  she  turn  at  the  curve  of  the  path?  She 
did  not.  And  my  last  glimpse  was  not  of  her, 
but  of  her  protector.  I  turned  on  the  current  and 
fled. 


39 


CHAPTER  III 

FOR  nearly  a  week  I  kept  my  eyes  open  and 
looked  in  every  direction,  but  I  did  not  see 
Gwendolyn  again. 

I  went  every  morning  to  the  Bois  Bourbon  and 
sat  in  the  shadow  of  Marie  Antoinette  and  waited, 
feeding  my  wandering  hopes  with  the  exquisite 
memories  of  that  first  and  only  meeting. 

From  my  windows  at  the  HohenzoUern  I 
scanned  the  heavens  and  searched  each  passing  air- 
plane with  my  spy-glass.  Once  I  saw  the  Wig- 
leigh  coat  of  arms  emblazoned  on  outspread  wings 
high  above  me.  My  heart  jumped  out  to  meet 
the  whirling  motor,  but  the  occupants  were  Mama 
and  Papa  Wigleigh,  and  my  heart  sank  back  with 
a  sickening  thud. 

In  the  afternoons  I  walked  for  hours  about  the 
endless  gardens,  parks,  and  boulevards,  until  my 
legs  ached  and  my  eyes  burned.     The  extraordi- 

40 


ARISTOKIA 

nary  colorfulness  of  the  scene  was  a  narcotic  to  my 
mental  anguish,  which  dulled  the  pain  of  hopes 
deferred. 

I  threaded  my  way  through  the  human  throng, 
men  and  women  of  every  race  and  color.  Among 
them,  here  and  there,  was  a  sprinkling  of  Aris- 
tokians,  easily  distinguishable  by  the  refinement 
of  their  features  and  their  easy,  graceful  manner 
of  walking,  so  different  to  our  awkward,  shackled 
strides,  the  result  of  a  generation  of  dependence 
on  auto-peds. 

Almost  all  the  male  Aristokians  wore  uniforms. 
And  such  uniforms!  What  a  contrast  to  the 
drab,  unesthetic,  utilitarian  things  worn  by  our 
International  Police  I  All  the  colors  of  the  spec- 
trum seemed  splashed  in  harmonious  confusion 
upon  the  green-and-white  background  of  parks  and 
mansions.  Nearly  every  officer's  bosom  (and  they 
were  all  officers)  was  covered  with  a  diversity  of 
medals  and  decorations,  and  many  wore  silver, 
gold,  and  platinum  spurs,  which  made  a  pleasant 
clinking  sound  as  they  strode  about. 

The    Aristokian    ladies    were    all    attractively 

41 


ARISTOKIA 

dressed,  but  the  styles  were  not  unfamiliar  to  me, 
for  at  that  time  the  women  of  the  proletariat  aped 
the  fashions  of  Aristokia,  which  had  taken  the 
place  of  Paris  in  all  such  matters.  I  could  not 
restrain  my  smiles  at  the  sight  of  these  fine  birds 
flitting  by,  trailing  their  ungainly  chaperons  in 
black. 

One  afternoon  when  walking  in  a  comparatively 
quiet  lane  in  the  Bois  Bourbon,  to  which  I  al- 
ways returned,  drawn  by  the  lodestone  of  my 
memories,  I  saw  coming  toward  me  a  very  beauti- 
ful young  woman,  followed  by  a  perfectly  enor- 
mous hulk  in  black.  By  no  possible  flight  of  men- 
tal gymnastics  could  this  chaperon  have  been 
imagined  invisible.  She  utterly  overwhelmed  her 
petite  and  dainty  charge.  The  incongruity  of  the 
spectacle  was  too  much  for  me.  I  think  I  laughed 
out  loud.  At  any  rate,  I  smiled  broadly.  Sud- 
denly I  realized  that  the  young  lady  had  paused 
in  front  of  me  and  was  smiling  invitingly.  Con- 
fusion seized  me;  my  grin  froze,  and  I  fled.  To 
be  arrested  for  any  one  but  Gwendolyn  would  be 
absurd. 

42 


ARISTOKIA 

After  that  I  kept  my  smiles  to  myself,  but  I 
gradually  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  law  re- 
garding non-intercourse  with  the  Nobodies  was 
one  honored  more  in  the  breach  than  in  the  ob- 
servance. 

This  little  episode  set  me  to  thinking.  What 
was  it  that  made  forbidden  fruit  so  exquisite"? 
Why  did  we  almost  instinctively  desire  that  which 
prohibitory  mandates  placed  beyond  our  reach*? 
The  legend  of  Eve  and  the  apple  acquired  a  new 
significance  in  my  eyes.  It  became  at  that  mo- 
ment the  very  keynote  of  human  nature.  Is  not 
the  unobtainable  the  supreme  desire  of  each  one 
of  us,  and  does  not  the  race  progress  in  direct  ratio 
to  our  efforts  to  achieve  the  impossible?  At  ado- 
lescence our  dreams  are  illimitable.  The  attain- 
ments of  even  the  greatest  of  us  are  only  an  in- 
finitesimal part  of  our  youthful  ambitions. 
Therein  lies  the  measure  of  our  slow  advance. 

My  mind  rambled  on  as  I  walked  about. 
Then,  watching  the  Aristokians,  I  began  to  think 
more  concretely  about  the  problem  of  personal 
liberty.     In  Aristokia,  the  very  name  of  which  is 

43 


ARISTOKIA 

only  a  derivative  of  aristocracy,  though  there  were 
absurd  rules,  like  the  chaperons  in  black  they  had 
been  reduced  by  the  process  of  conventionalizing 
to  virtual  desuetude.  The  young  ladies  went 
blithely  on  their  way,  smiling  at  me  when  they 
chose,  thoroughly  chaperoned.  It  was  only  one 
item  in  a  long  list.  Yet  in  my  world  the  prole- 
tariat, in  the  name  of  universal  freedom,  was 
exercising  a  tyranny  unknown  in  former  years. 
What  had  become  of  the  great  Anglo-Saxon  ideal 
of  personal  liberty^  German  efficiency  had  at- 
tacked inchoate  England  and  America  and  had 
made  them  efficient  in  self-defense.  And  then? 
What  had  the  years  between  1919  and  1925  done 
to  us?  What  a  vast  collective  sin  must  now  be 
expiated  I 

On  the  personal  plane  I  found  myself,  fresh 
from  the  land  of  prohibitions,  like  many  another 
tourist  seeking  relaxation,  assuaging  the  confusion 
of  my  mental  state  by  an  assiduous  sampling  of  al- 
coholic beverages.  I  took  copious  drafts  of  claret, 
burgundy,  sauterne,  champagne,  port,  and  shtrry. 

44 


ARISTOKIA 

How  many  there  were,  each  with  its  distinctive 
taste,  aroma,  and  effect  I  I  sipped  strangely  elat- 
ing things  called  cordials — sweet,  oily,  burning 
liquids  named  after  gentlemen  who  had  conse- 
crated their  lives  to  celibacy  and  the  Deity.  It 
was  a  fascinating  experience  to  one  whose  only  pre- 
vious knowledge  of  alcohol  had  been  in  the  form 
of  Kansas  City  Near-Beer,  Bolivia  (the  quack 
remedy  for  all  human  ills),  and  Kentucky  moon- 
shine whisky,  the  unpalatable  curses  of  our  world. 
I  found  that  after  partaking  of  these  beverages  I 
became  infused  with  something  extraneous  to  me, 
a  new  courage,  a  new  hope,  and  a  conviction  that 
on  the  morrow  I  should  see  Gwendolyn. 

Exactly  a  week  after  my  meeting  with  her  I  sat 
at  a  table  in  the  Cafe  Louis  Quatorze.  I  had 
dined  not  wisely  but  too  well,  and  was  sipping  a 
new  cordial  in  abject  loneliness.  I  felt  strangely 
fraternal,  rosily  elated.  I  wanted  to  talk.  I  had 
tried  the  resources  of  my  wit  and  wisdom  on  the 
waiter,  but  he  persisted  in  answering  "Yes,  sir," 
and  "No,  sir,"  to  my  every  comment,  making  a 

45 


ARISTOKIA 

genuine  conversation  extremely  difficult.  He  left 
me,  to  get  my  check,  and  I  looked  about  me,  smil- 
ing. 

A  few  meters  away  sat  a  nice  young  chap  look- 
ing as  lonely  as  I.  Suddenly  I  realized  that  I  had 
been  playing  with  a  little  box  of  my  detestable  cap- 
sules, which  I  had  in  an  absent-minded  moment 
taken  out  of  my  pocket.  I  took  a  capsule,  poised 
it  on  my  knife,  and  snapped  back  the  blade.  The 
capsule  described  a  beautiful  curve  through  the 
air  and  splashed  contentedly  into  the  young  chap's 
glass  of  champagne.  He  cocked  an  eye  over  it  in 
a  contemplative  manner.  I  laughed.  And  being 
delighted  with  my  aim  I  repeated  the  performance. 
The  second  one  hit  him  on  the  nose.  He  turned 
and  looked  at  me. 

"What 's  the  idea*?"  he  said  in  English. 

"I  'm  lonely,"  I  replied. 

Whereat  he  arose  and  came  over  to  me.  We 
shook  hands,  and  he  sat  down.  He  explained  to 
me  that  he  had  been  arrested  that  day  and  fined 
for  speaking  to  some  one  on  the  boulevard. 

"They  fined  me  a  hundred  dollars  for  talking 

46 


ARISTOKIA 

to  an  Aristokian,  and  a  hundred  dollars  more  for 
calling  him  'Mister'  when  he  happened  to  be  a 
baron." 

I  sympathized,  and  paid  for  the  drinks. 

My  new  friend's  name  was  Frank  Hyde.  He 
was  a  member  of  the  Civic  Board  for  the  Improve- 
ment of  Public  Morals  in  Benton,  Nebraska. 

After  we  had  paid  our  checks  and  slightly  re- 
covered from  the  staggering  blow  they  dealt  us, 
we  decided  that  excitement  was  in  order.  Hyde 
opined  that  a  visit  to  a  wild  IJungarian  cafe  was 
the  thing.  I  voted  for  the  casino,  and  won  him 
over. 

My  reasons  for  favoring  the  casino  were  two- 
fold. In  the  first  place,  I  might  see  Gwendolyn 
there,  though  of  this  I  said  nothing  to  Hyde.  In 
the  second  place, — and  it  was  this  argument  I 
used  with  effect  on  him, — the  high  cost  of  living  in 
Aristokia  was  ruining  us.  The  dinner  I  had  just 
eaten  had  cost  me  twenty-five  dollars.  My  room 
at  the  Hohenzollern  was  fifteen  dollars  a  day. 
The  admission  to  every  park  and  garden,  to  every 
place  of  interest,  was  a  dollar  or  more.     Along  the 

47 


ARISTOKIA 

boulevards  there  were  frequent  toll-gates  through 
which  tourists  could  pass  only  by  the  payment  of 
a  dollar.  Every  one  had  to  be  tipped.  It  was 
appalling.  At  the  casino,  I  vowed,  we  would 
make  a  killing,  and  recoup  our  expenses.  The 
possibility  of  losing  never  occurred  to  either  of  us. 
We  were  not  men  in  the  mood  to  admit  the  coex- 
istence with  us  of  failure  in  any  form.  So  we 
sallied  forth  in  high  spirits. 

The  admission  to  the  casino  was  twenty-five 
dollars  a  head.  We  matched  for  it,  and  I  lost. 
The  main  salon  was  a  vast  place  done  somewhat  in 
the  manner  of  the  great  ball-room  at  Versailles, 
richly  carpeted,  so  that  every  footfall  was  muffled 
into  silence.  From  the  magnificent  carved  ceiling 
hung  tremendous  electroliers,  so  placed  as  to  shed 
their  radiance  on  the  hundred  or  more  tables.  It 
was  a  blessed  relief  to  one  accustomed,  as  I  was, 
to  vague,  diffused,  and  indirect-lighting  systems  to 
see  real,  glowing,  warm  lights.  The  smoke  from 
countless  cigarettes  hung  in  gently  undulating 
veils  of  blue,  which  accentuated  the  stupendous 

48 


ARISTOKIA 

size  of  the  room  and  gave  a  sense  of  mysterious 
remoteness  to  the  scene.  The  air  was  filled  with 
a  multiplicity  of  sounds.  The  incessant  clink  of 
coins,  the  rustle  of  paper  money,  the  scraping  of 
the  croupiers,  and  their  droning  voices  intoning  the 
eternal  "Faites  vos  jeux,  Messieurs/''  mingled  in  a 
mighty  harmony  with  the  buzz  of  a  thousand 
voices  speaking  in  a  key  of  suppressed  excitement. 
The  salon  and  all  that  it  expressed  made  an  im- 
pact on  our  consciousness  never  to  be  forgotten. 

Several  tables  set  apart  were  marked  for  Aris- 
tokians  only,  but  I  noticed  many  citizens  of  the 
city-empire  playing  at  the  public  tables. 

I  started  playing  the  red,  the  color  of  love,  pas- 
sion, and  danger.  I  lost  steadily.  Hyde  played 
the  black,  which  struck  me  as  being  a  rather 
gloomy  idea.  He  won.  When  I  had  only  a  hun- 
dred dollars  left  I  shifted  to  black,  and  lost.  I 
then  and  there  decided  that  that  particular  table 
and  I  were  not  en  rapport.  I  dragged  Hyde,  who 
was  nearly  a  thousand  to  the  good,  away  with  me 
to  a  table  at  the  far  end  of  the  room. 

49 


ARISTOKIA 

And  then  I  blessed  my  ill  luck,  for  there  was 
Gwendolyn  at  last  I  Her  eyes  sparkled  and  her 
face  was  flushed  as  she  leaned  toward  the  wheel 
and  gaily  bet  some  of  Papa  Wigleigh's  money. 
Papa  was  with  her.     He  was  not  betting. 

As  the  evening  progressed,  I  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  papa  was  the  most  supremely  bored 
person  I  had  ever  seen  in  my  life.  Later  I  dis- 
covered that  he  had  been  born  in  a  casual,  offhand 
manner,  and  that  boredom  was  to  him  as  the  color 
of  their  eyes  is  to  most  men,  an  unalterable  fea- 
ture. 

Hyde  noticed  me  staring  at  Gwendolyn  and 
informed  me  that  she  was  the  reigning  beauty  of 
Aristokia. 

"The  man  at  her  right,"  he  added,  "is  Prince 
Juan  do  Braganza,  the  best-dressed  man  in  Aris- 
tokia, for  which  he  was  made  Commander-in-Chief 
of  the  Army,  Navy,  and  Aerial  Forces.  He  is  a 
gay  Lothario,  a  home-breaker,  the  victorious  par- 
ticipant in  a  hundred  duels,  the  idol  of  the  young 
bloods,  and  the  adored  of  all  the  women.  He  has 
ninety-nine  different  uniforms  and  never  wears  the 

50 


ARISTOKIA 

same  one  twice.     He  keeps  thirty-three   tailors 
busy." 

I  looked  at  the  man  on  her  right  and  recognized 
him  immediately  as  the  person  who  had  caused 
such  a  commotion  by  his  presence  at  the  opera  my 
first  night  in  Aristokia.  "What  a  peacock  I"  I 
thought.  He  was  marvelous  to  look  at.  I  had 
never  seen  a  uniform  fit  so  well.  It  was  a  part 
of  him.     He  was  the  uniform. 

And  then  as  Gwendolyn  glanced  casually  across 
at  me  without  in  any  way  acknowledging  my  exist- 
ence, I  suddenly  felt  shabby  and  ill  at  ease.  I 
struggled  helplessly  with  my  collar,  which  I  be- 
came convinced  was  at  least  two  sizes  too  large  for 
me. 

I  was  trying  desperately  to  make  Gwendolyn 
look  me  in  the  eyes  and  give  me  some  little  sign 
when  Hyde  tugged  my  arm  frantically. 

"Oh,  Lord!  oh.  Lord  I  Don't  stare!  The 
man  on  her  left,  her  father,  he  's  the  fellow  who 
had  me  pinched  to-day  when  I  asked  him  the  time. 
Let's  go."  And  he  pulled  me  away  from  the 
table. 

51 


ARISTOKIA 

But  I  had  no  intention  of  leaving  that  table; 
not  until  Gwendolyn  did,  at  any  rate.  So  I  up- 
braided Hyde  for  his  cowardice.  Was  he,  a  citi- 
zen of  the  world,  going  to  let  an  aristocrat,  a 
mere  baron,  frighten  him  away'?  Where  was  his 
pride?  What  would  Benton,  Nebraska,  think  of 
him?  My  words  had  the  desired  effect,  and  we 
returned  to  the  table,  but  on  the  opposite  side,  near 
Gwendolyn. 

I  was  determined  to  talk  at  Gwendolyn  through 
Hyde.     It  was  the  only  plan  I  could  hit  on. 

"Do  you  ever  walk  in  the  Bois  Bourbon  near 
the  statue  of  Marie  Antoinette?"  I  said  to  Hyde 
as  I  placed  a  small  bet  on  the  red.  She  was  play- 
ing red. 

Hyde  was  too  busy  betting  to  answer  me,  so  I 
repeated  the  question  loudly  and  with  emphasis. 

He  murmured,  "No,"  as  the  croupier  scooped  in 
our  money. 

"I  do,"  I  almost  shouted,  "every  morning  at 
half-past  nine." 

"What 's  the  idea?"  asked  Hyde. 

"Oh,  it  *s  so  nice  and  lonesome  there.     Nobody 
52 


ARISTOKIA 

comes,"  I  said,  looking  at  Gwendolyn  reproach- 
fully. 

"Good  Lord!  Then  why  do  you  do  it?"  quer- 
ied the  rather  puzzled  Hyde. 

"I  go  there  to  look  for  company." 

"But  you  just  said  it  was  lonesome  there,"  he 
protested. 

"Yes,  it  is.  That 's  the  trouble."  Hyde  gave 
me  a  quick,  searching  glance. 

"What  did  you  say?"  he  asked.  "I  don't  think 
I  understood." 

He  was  evidently  very  much  puzzled.  I  seized 
the  opportunity  with  avidity  and  fairly  yelled  at 
him: 

"Yes,  that 's  the  trouble.  Nobody  's  there." 
I  wanted  Gwendolyn  to  get  the  significance  of  this 
remark. 

Baron  Wigleigh  had  been  staring  at  me  through 
his  monocle  for  some  time.  I  must  confess  it  had 
made  me  a  little  nervous,  but  I  was  determined  not 
to  be  put  out  of  countenance  by  the  aristocratic  de- 
scendant of  a  chewing-gum  magnate.  After  all, 
one  could  swallow  my  capsules. 

53 


ARISTOKIA 

So  I  looked  right  at  the  baron  and  added  play- 
fully, "Nobody,  Nobody,  NOBODY r 

The  baron  half  squinted  at  me  and  turned  to 
Don  Juan. 

"I  wonder  why  Nobodies  talk  so  beastly  loud," 
he  remarked. 

Hyde  nudged  me  with  his  elbow,  and  his  eyes 
said,  "You  see  the  depths  of  displeasure  you  are 
bringing  on  our  heads  I" 

After  a  pause,  as  Don  Juan  had  not  paid  the 
slightest  attention  to  the  baron's  query,  he  con- 
tinued introspectively,  with  all  the  manner  of  a 
very  bored  actor  reading  a  soliloquy  of  which  he 
does  not  approve :  "I  suppose  they  have  to  keep 
their  silly  lungs  in  training  for  public  speaking. 
A  republic  without  oratory  would  be  quite  impos- 
sible.   Democracy  is  government  by  declamation." 

Don  Juan  ignored  this,  which  I  thought  a  gem 
of  political  observation.  I  was  beginning  to  like 
the  baron,  but  not  the  trend  of  events.  In  at- 
tempting to  arouse  Gwendolyn  to  indirect  repartee 
I  had  started  a  soliloquy  by  her  father:  I  deter- 

54 


ARISTOKIA 

mined  to  try  again.  The  baron  started  to  speak, 
but  I  drowned  him  out: 

"I  have  wandered  about  this  city  looking — look- 
ing everywhere — for  a  week,"  I  said. 

"Have  you  lost  something'?"  Hyde  asked. 

"Yes,  a  jewel,  a  rare  jewel." 

"Too  bad  I  Why  don't  you  report  it  to  the 
police*?"  suggested  Hyde. 

"It 's  all  right.     I  've  found  it  now." 

"That 's  good." 

"But  I  'm  afraid  I  shall  lose  it  again." 

"Why  don't  you  keep  it  locked  up  at  the  ho- 
tel?" 

"I  wish  I  could,"  I  sighed,  looking  longingly  at 
Gwendolyn;  "but  I  can't  control  it." 

"What?"  Hyde  stared  at  me.  I  knew  in- 
stantly that  he  considered  me  demented. 

"I  wish  I  knew  where  to  go  to-morrow,"  I  said 
after  a  short  pause  during  which  we  waited  for 
the  spin  of  the  wheel. 

"What  for?"  inquired  Hyde,  looking  dubiously 
at  me  over  his  shoulder. 

55 


ARISTOKIA 

"To  find  the  jewel  that  I  shall  lose  again — in 
half  an  hour  or  so." 

That  last  remark  settled  matters  for  poor  Hyde. 
From  that  moment  until  he  left  Aristokia  he  al- 
ways treated  me  as  a  harmless  lunatic,  which  sim- 
plified things  immeasurably. 

I  wanted  to  see  what  effect  my  shots  were  hav- 
ing on  Gwendolyn,  but  she  was  looking  at  Hyde, 
whose  expression  was  a  unique  admixture  of  ter- 
ror, bewilderment,  and  sympathy.  It  was  too 
much  for  her  sense  of  humor,  and  she  went  into 
peals  of  delicious  laughter. 

Braganza,  feeling  reassured  at  the  effect  of  his 
wit,  told  Gwendolyn  another  anecdote  about  him- 
self, which  she  never  heard,  I  am  sure,  for  he  was 
obliged  to  repeat  the  point.  Even  then  she 
laughed  in  the  wrong  place. 

"I  'm  not  going  to  talk  any  more,"  I  said  to 
Hyde,  who  seemed  greatly  relieved  by  my  de- 
cision. I  turned  quickly  and  looked  at  the  baron, 
but  though  I  could  swear  he  was  secretly  elated,  he 
gave  no  outward  sign.  "I  'm  going  to  listen.  I 
might  hear  something  of  interest."     I   wanted 

56 


ARISTOKIA 

Gwendolyn  to  know  that  it  was  now  up  to  her 
to  talk  at  me  through  Braganza. 

In  a  few  moments  she  said,  as  she  placed  an 
extra-heavy  bet,  "Faint  heart  ne'er  won  fair 
lady,  Juan." 

Was  this  meant  for  me*?  I  doubled  my  bet  on 
her  number.  We  won.  For  some  time  I  had 
been  winning,  but  I  had  been  too  interested  in  my 
mad  duologue  with  Hyde  to  realize  how  much. 
Now  that  I  hardly  cared  what  the  result  of  the 
turn  of  the  wheel  might  be,  I  won  steadily. 

As  I  played,  I  listened  for  something  more 
tangibly  hopeful  for  me  to  fall  from  Gwendolyn's 
lips,  but  I  listened  in  vain. 

I  watched  Braganza.  How  attentive  he  was 
to  her  I  With  what  subtle  gallantry  and  finesse 
he  wooed  her  I  His  conversation  was  a  mosaic  of 
little  things  which  in  themselves  meant  nothing. 
But,  taken  as  a  whole,  what  did  they  not  mean? 

And  then  it  was  that  I  came  to  a  momentous 
decision.  If  ever  I  was  to  have  the  exquisite  pleas- 
ure of  talking  to  Gwendolyn  again,  I  must  make 
the  opportunity,  I  must  be  the  aggressor.     She  had 

57 


ARISTOKIA 

shown  the  way  once;  it  was  now  up  to  me,  I 
had  been  a  fool.  I  would  seek  out  her  house,  I 
would  shadow  her.  To  talk  with  her  again  I 
would  risk  everything.  What  was  a  fine  or  two? 
The  little  wheel  was  making  enough  for  me  to  pay 
a  dozen  fines.  Gwendolyn's  nearness  intoxicated 
me  and  sent  a  thrill  of  courage  throbbing  through 
my  veins. 

"From  now  on  I  'm  going  to  take  chances,"  I 
said  out  loud.  "I  've  been  a  fool.  I  'm  going  to 
plunge.     I  'm  going  to  be  reckless." 

I  bet  my  entire  pile  and  won.  I  was  now  sev- 
eral thousand  ahead  of  the  game.  As  I  gathered 
the  coins  and  bills  the  croupier  pushed  toward  me, 
Gwendolyn  and  Braganza  left  the  table.  Papa 
had  turned  away  just  ahead  of  them.  His  part- 
ing shot  had  been:  "I'm  going  to  see  Prince 
Karl" — Prince  Karl  was  a  Hapsburg  and  one  of 
the  most  influential  Royal  Blues — "about  a  law 
to  prohibit  oratory  in  public  places,  and  thus  re- 
duce the  volume  of  sound  emitted  by  tourists." 

I  told  Hyde  I  thought  we  had  better  quit,  and 
though  he  had  been  losing  for  some  time,  he 

58 


ARISTOKIA 

agreed.  I  tried  to  follow  Gwendolyn,  but  Hyde 
wanted  to  go  in  the  opposite  direction,  and  while 
we  discussed  the  matter,  she  was  swallowed  up  in 
the  crowd. 

Gwendolyn  had  disappeared,  moving  in  the  di- 
rection of  a  lounging  space  filled  with  comfortable 
sofas  and  chairs  and  small  tables  at  which  drinks 
were  served.  It  was  situated  in  a  semi-oval  re- 
cess between  the  two  wings  of  the  great  stairway 
that  went  up  to  the  airplane  entrance.  The  stairs 
were  not  so  crowded  but  that  I  could  see  her,  were 
she  to  leave  that  way.  Surmising,  however,  that 
the  baron  was  probably  slaking  his  thirst  after  his 
arduous  speechmaking  at  my  expense,  I  suggested 
a  drink,  and  with  my  eyes  on  the  stairs  led  the 
way  to  the  lounge. 

There  I  found  Gwendolyn  and  her  escorts  seated 
on  a  sofa.  There  was  a  third  man  in  uniform, 
who,  Hyde  informed  me,  was  a  Bonaparte. 

I  ordered  a  thing  called,  for  some  obscure  rea- 
son, a  highball,  and  while  I  sipped  it  I  wrote  on 
the  back  of  an  envelop : 

Miss  Smith  :     Do  you  ever  walk  in  the  Bois  Bol- 

59 


ARISTOKIA 

shevik  near  the  statute  of  Leon  Trotzky?     It  was  very 
nice  there  once,  at  half-after  nine ! 

I  was  very  proud  of  this.  She  would  under- 
stand, but  no  one  else  would. 

Hyde  had  been  watching  me,  consumed  with 
intense  curiosity.  He  had  started  nervously  every 
time  I  had  chuckled  with  self-satisfaction  during 
the  composition  of  my  note.  I  could  see  that  he 
was  eager  to  ask  me  what  I  was  doing,  but  a 
really  charming  reticence  restrained  him.  I  liked 
him  for  it. 

"Just  a  few  observations  on  the  course  of  hu- 
man events,"  I  said. 

"Oh."     He  looked  at  me  dazed. 

We  finished  our  drinks.  The  men  in  Gwen- 
dolyn's party  rose  and  stood  for  an  instant,  their 
backs  to  the  sofa,  waving  and  beckoning  to  a 
bearded  man  descending  the  stairs.  Gwendolyn 
only  half  turned,  and  I  caught  her  eye.  I  jumped 
up.  As  I  passed  her  I  dropped  the  folded  envelop, 
and  continued  on  my  way  without  looking  back. 

I  was  congratulating  myself  on  the  neatness 
with  which  I  had  done  the  thing  when  I  heard  a 

60 


ARISTOKIA 

queer  and  weird  exclamation  behind  me.  It  was 
Hyde.  I  had  forgotten  him  in  my  plan  of  cam- 
paign. 

"Excuse  me,  old  man,  but  you  dropped  this," 
he  said  and  handed  me  the  envelop. 

I  took  it.     It  was  unfolded. 

"Did  you  read  itr' I  asked. 

"Well — you  see — "  Hyde  reddened  and  be- 
came inarticulate.  "It  was — that  is — I  could  n't 
help —  But  I  don't  understand  it.  Who  is 
Trotzky?  I  beg  your  pardon;  it's  none  of  my 
business,"  he  added  quickly,  repentant. 

"Certainly  it  is  your  business.  You  owe  a  great 
debt  to  Trotzky.  So  do  I.  There  should  be  a 
statue  to  him.  He  was  the  great  Bolshevik  leader 
in  Russia  about  fifty  years  ago.  Some  one  killed 
him  because  he  was  too  reactionary;  but  the  pro- 
letariat owes  a  great  deal  to  him,  nevertheless." 

By  this  time  we  were  about  twenty-five  feet 
away  from  Gwendolyn.  Suddenly  I  wheeled, 
swinging  the  unfortunate  Hyde,  whom  I  held  by 
the  arm,  around  with  me,  and  started  walking 
briskly  back  toward  Gwendolyn,  talking  volubly 

61 


ARISTOKIA 

all  the  time.  I  was  the  conjurer  using  patter  to 
keep  Hyde's  interest  centered  on  my  words  rather 
than  on  my  deeds.  The  descendants  of  Boggs, 
Napoleon,  and  Manuel  were  showing  signs  of  an 
imminent  departure. 

"I  thought  that  Brisdon — "  began  Hyde, 

I  interrupted  him  quickly. 

"That 's  the  way  they  teach  history  in  Benton, 
Nebraska.  You  thought  that  Brisdon,  Strawood 
and  that  Washington  Square  chap  who  used  to  edit 
the  'New  Democracy'  were  responsible  for  our 
proletariate  emancipation.  Well,  in  a  way  they 
were;  but  I  tell  you  they  never  had  an  idea  that 
they  did  n't  get  from  Trotzky." 

My  voice  had  grown  louder  and  louder,  and  the 
"Trotzky"  was  almost  a  shout.  The  bearded  man 
to  whom  Gwendolyn  and  the  others  had  waved 
turned  quickly  with  a  startled  expression. 

"  'Shi"  cautioned  Hyde.  "He  's  a  Russian,  a 
Romanoff  I" 

Gwendolyn  looked  at  me  again.  As  I  passed 
her  I  dropped  the  note  at  her  feet.  Hyde  did  not 
see  it. 

62 


ARISTOKIA 

Gwendolyn  dropped  her  handkerchief,  undoubt- 
edly with  the  intention  of  picking  up  my  note 
with  the  filmy  piece  of  lace ;  but  the  excessive  po- 
liteness and  alacrity  of  the  descendant  of  Napo- 
leon forestalled  her.  He  handed  her  the  handker- 
chief, bowed,  and  then  read  the  note.  I  heard 
him  ejaculate  something  in  French  which  sounded 
sacred. 

Hyde  gasped:  "My  God  I  have  you  dropped 
that  thing  again*?  Let's  get  away  from  here 
quick !" 

He  tugged  miserably  at  my  arm,  but  I  stood 
my  ground  and  held  him.  An  irresistible  desire 
to  see  what  would  happen  glued  me  to  the  spot. 

The  baron  was  smoking  in  absolute  unconcern, 
Don  Juan  was  posing  for  the  benefit  of  any  woman 
who  might  look  his  way,  Gwendolyn  was  trying 
desperately  not  to  laugh,  the  Russian,  having 
heard  the  Frenchman's  religious  observation,  was 
looking  concerned. 

"What  in  heaven's  name  is  the  matter  and 
what  is  that  paper^"  he  asked  Bonaparte  in 
French.     I  don't  know  French,  but  I  'm  sure  that 

63 


ARISTOKIA 

he  said  something  like  that,  for  Napoleon's  great- 
grand-something-or-other  struggled  to  keep  the 
contents  of  my  note  from  his  friend.  But  the  Ro- 
manoff overpowered  him,  and  took  possession  of 
the  paper.     There  was  a  moment  of  tense  silence. 

Then  Nicholas,  or  whatever  his  name  was, 
thundered:  "Who  dares  to  write  concerning  a 
statue  to  the  infamous  murderer  of  my  beloved 
great-uncles  and  great-aunts  I" 

He  handed  the  note  to  Juan  and  began  to  weep. 

Don  Juan  glanced  at  it  in  a  cursory  manner, 
passed  it  to  Gwendolyn  without  comment,  and 
then  turned  to  sympathize  elaborately  with  Ro- 
manoff. Gwendolyn's  eyes  danced,  and  her  lips 
quivered.     I  had  made  a  decided  hit. 

Then  father  got  the  note  and  remarked :  "It 's 
in  code  I" 

He  called  one  of  the  casino  police.  I  was  to 
discover  later  that  the  baron  was  always  calling 
policemen. 

The  eyes  of  the  group  were  on  Hyde  and  me. 
The  Frenchman  pointed  at  us  excitedly ;  the  Rus- 

64 


ARISTOKIA 

sian  walked  up  and  down  debating  with  himself 
whether  we  should  be  drawn  and  quartered  or 
boiled  in  oil. 

Hyde  was  struggling  frantically  to  escape  my 
vise-like  grip  when  the  grotesqueness  of  the  sit- 
uation sent  me  into  a  spasm  of  uncontrolled  laugh- 
ter, and  I  shook  so  violently  that  I  lost  my  hold  on 
him.  I  expected  to  see  him  cut  loose  and  run 
for  Benton,  Nebraska.  To  my  utter  amazement, 
and  I  shall  never  forgive  myself  for  having  so 
misjudged  him,  he  dashed  straight  at  the  baron 
and  the  others  now  grouped  about  the  policeman. 

The  officer  was  explaining  to  Prince  Romanoff 
that  we  could  not  possibly  be  arrested  for  propos- 
ing a  statue  to  Leon  Trotzky;  we  had  broken  no 
law  of  Aristokia. 

"Then  it 's  a  damn  silly  country,"  said  the 
baron. 

It  was  at  this  point  that  Hyde  reached  the 
group,  talking  rapidly. 

"Gentleman,  I  know  I  should  not  address  you, 
that  I  am  only  a  Nobody,   that  you  are  great 

65 


ARISTOKIA 

princes;  but  my  poor  friend  is  insane,  though  per- 
fectly harmless.  I  will  remove  him  immediately, 
and  assure  you — " 

He  got  no  further.  That  much  had  taken  the 
august  gentlemen  by  surprise. 

By  now  the  baron  was  smiling  contentedly. 

"This  vulgar  outburst  simplifies  matters,"  he 
said  to  the  policeman.  "The  charge  is  talking  to 
Aristokians  and  addressing  us  as  gentlemen  instead 
of  using  our  titles  correctly." 

"Yes,  your  Lordship."  The  policeman  bowed, 
and  took  Hyde  by  the  arm. 

"Let  me  look  at  the  fellow,"  the  baron  de- 
manded, looking  at  Hyde  through  his  monocle. 
"Yes,  the  physiognomy  is  too  similar  for  mere  re- 
semblance. This — this — does  n't  wind  its  watch 
regularly;  lax  habits.  Second  offense.  Officer. 
He  stopped  me  in  the  boulevard  this  afternoon." 

Without  further  ado  the  policeman  led  Hyde 
away.  I  followed  dismally.  Well,  anyway, 
Gwendolyn  had  read  my  note. 

We  entered  a  well-furnished  room  of  nonde- 
script character  through  a  small,  half -concealed 

66 


ARISTOKIA 

door  under  the  stairs.  It  was  neither  an  office  nor 
an  anteroom.  Two  or  three  policemen  were 
lounging  about,  smoking. 

"I  'm  so  sorry,  old  chap,"  I  began  my  excuses 
to  Hyde. 

"It 's  all  right." 

The  policeman  smiled  at  us  genially. 

"Don't  worry,  don't  worry.  Baron  Wigleigh 
never  appears  to  press  a  charge.  It  bores  him  too 
much." 

"Really*?"  I  asked  in  surprise. 

A  policeman  over  by  the  wall  stretched,  yawned, 
and  remarked:  "He  had  three  hundred  and  fifty 
tourists  arrested  last  season,  and  appeared  against 
only  three  of  them." 

Hyde  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"I  can  fix  this  up  for  you,"  said  our  police- 
man. 

"Can  you?"  I  asked,  wondering  just  what  the 
technic  of  the  thing  would  be. 

Then  I  noticed  Hyde  digging  down  into  his 
pockets,  and  I  understood. 

"No,  no,"  I  interposed;  "you  are  my  guest." 

67 


ARISTOKIA 

I  took  out  my  roll.  "How  much^"  I  asked  the 
policeman. 

"Well,  your  fine  for  talking  to  them  would  have 
been  one  hundred  dollars,  for  using  their  titles 
wrong  would  have  been  a  hundred  apiece.  As 
there  were  four  of  them,  that 's  four  hundred. 
Second  offense  doubles.  That 's  a  grand  total  of 
one  thousand."  He  paused.  "Ten  per  cent,  of 
that  would  be  one  hundred." 

I  gave  him  the  hundred,  and  we  turned  to  go. 

"Wait  a  bit,"  he  said.  "You  '11  be  wanting 
your  receipt." 

My  brain  reeled.     I  took  the  receipt  in  a  dream. 

When  I  said  good  night  to  Hyde  on  our  re- 
turn to  the  HohenzoUern, — he  was  also  stopping 
there, — he  wanted  to  know  my  plans  for  the  next 
day.  As  they  were  of  a  very  confidential  nature 
and  I  did  not  wish  his  companionship,  I  gently 
reminded  him  of  my  insanity  by  remarking  that 
I  was  going  jewel-hunting.  It  worked  like  a 
charm.  With  a  frightened,  sad  look  he  hurried 
away  to  his  own  room. 


68 


CHAPTER  IV 

1  AWOKE  early  the  next  morning,  fired  by 
my  new  determination.  I  felt  arrogantly 
masculine.  At  last  I  had  come  into  the  noble 
heritage  of  my  sex.  I  was  to  be  the  aggressor.  I 
was  about  to  go  forth  and  conquer. 

I  breakfasted  heartily,  and  then  went  in  search 
of  a  taxiplane  with  a  good  pilot,  one  who  knew 
the  city  and  could  point  out  to  me  the  various  resi- 
dences as  we  flew  over  them. 

I  was  interviewing  several  pilots  when  Frank 
Hyde  came  along  and  informed  me  that  all  of 
them  were  fools,  that  he  knew  the  city  well, — 
this  was  his  fifth  trip  to  Aristokia, — and  would 
be  pleased  to  accompany  me.  I  did  n't  want  him, 
but  he  looked  at  me  so  wistfully  that  I  could  not 
refuse  his  offer.  I  saw  that  he  had  taken  a  fancy 
to  me  and  felt  it  to  be  his  Christian  duty  to  watch 
over  me  and  keep  my  unbalanced  mind  from  do- 
ing me  some  harm. 

69 


ARISTOKIA 

We  clambered  aboard  the  car  of  a  bright  young 
Frenchman,  Auguste,  who  seemed  an  excellent 
flier. 

I  was  soon  delighted  to  have  Hyde  along,  for 
his  knowledge  of  the  city  was  profound,  and  the 
information  I  gained  I  later  used  to  great  advan- 
tage. 

We  flew  low  and  passed  over  many  interesting 
buildings:  the  emperor's  palace;  the  great  edifice 
wherein  the  Royal  Blues  held  their  secret  con- 
claves; the  home  of  the  Hohenzollems;  Prince 
Braganza's  artistic  and  exquisitely  proportioned 
residence,  quite  the  most  beautiful  private  house 
in  Aristokia;  and  a  little  farther  west  the  impos- 
ing structure  of  Wigleigh  Hall. 

It  stood  on  a  slight  hill,  surrounded  by  terraced 
gardens  and  lawns  declining  gradually  to  a  beau- 
tiful artificial  lake.  It  was  octagonal  in  shape, 
with  no  front  or  back,  the  main  entrance,  in  the 
approved  modern  manner,  being  from  the  top. 
The  highest  part  of  the  roof  was  flat  and  clear.  It 
was  the  landing-place  for  planes.  A  broad,  shal- 
low stone  stairway  descended  into  the  grand  en- 

70 


ARISTOKIA 

trance,  a  beautiful  marble  arch  where  two  flunkies 
in  livery  stood  on  guard. 

At  the  other  side  of  the  building  was  a  large, 
glass-inclosed  space,  a  sort  of  sun-room  with  an 
unobstructed  view  of  the  sky.  And  there  the 
Wigleighs — papa,  mama,  and  Gwendolyn — sat  at 
breakfast. 

We  were  flying  very  low  and  slowly  as  we 
passed.  Gwendolyn  looked  up,  and  I  think  she 
saw  me.  In  an  instant  my  mind  was  made  up. 
I  would  show  her  the  kind  of  lover  I  was.  I 
would  be  reckless.     I  would  plunge  I 

Reassured  by  my  very  rational  conversation, 
Hyde  was  beginning  to  think  that  I  had  been 
drunk  the  evening  before  and  was  not  really  in- 
sane. So  when  I  asked  Auguste  to  circle  over  the 
sun-room  again  Hyde  suspected  nothing. 

As  we  turned  about,  I  drew  out  my  handker- 
chief and  very  nonchalantly  blew  my  nose.  I  let 
the  handkerchief  slip  from  my  fingers,  and  in  at- 
tempting to  recover  it,  I  leaned  too  far  and  out  I 
tumbled. 

The  whole  manoeuver  I  had  calculated  with  a 

71 


ARISTOKIA 

scientific  nicety  of  which  I  felt  justly  proud.  I 
fell  over  an  open  space  where  the  glass  had  been 
removed  to  admit  the  fresh  morning  air.  Directly 
beneath  this  opening  was  a  large,  soft-looking 
couch  where  I  presumed  Mama  Wigleigh  took  her 
daily  sun-bath.  I  would  have  made  a  clean  dive 
through  the  opening  and  landed  squarely  on  this 
couch  if  Hyde  had  not  tried  to  rescue  me.  His 
frantic  clutch  at  my  departing  left  leg  deviated  me 
from  my  well-chosen  course  just  enough  to  make 
me  side-swipe  and  smash  a  huge  pane  of  glass, 
which  clattered  down  with  me  to  the  floor,  where 
most  of  me  landed,  though  I  did  manage  to  keep 
my  head  on  the  couch. 

I  was  sorry  for  the  fracas,  as  I  had  no  desire 
to  wreck  the  Wigleigh  home  or  antagonize  papa 
while  making  my  morning  call. 

As  I  fell  I  heard  Hyde  shouting:  "Oh,  my 
God  I  he  's  done  for  I  They  '11  fine  him  a  million 
bucks  for  that." 

Although  somewhat  shaken  by  my  rapid  flight 
and  cut  up  by  broken  glass,  I  was  not  really  in- 
jured; but  I  decided  that  the  thing  to  do  was  to 

72 


I    was    sorry    for   the    fracas,   as    I    had    no   desire    to   wreck    the 
Wigleigh  home 


ARISTOKIA 

appear  unconscious.  So  I  rolled  to  the  floor  and 
made  myself  comfortable  in  the  debris. 

In  an  instant  Gwendolyn,  who  had  arisen  with 
a  little  cry  of  sympathetic  horror  which  made  my 
heart  beat  faster  with  keen  delight,  was  on  her 
knees  and  bending  over  me.  Mama  Wigleigh 
was  on  her  feet,  calling  loudly  for  menials.  But 
the  baron  never  moved. 

I  heard  him  say,  without  any  interest  in  his 
tone.     ''Is  the  beggar  dead?" 

Gwendolyn  murmured.  "Poor  Smithy  I  He  's 
all  cut  up." 

I  felt  her  soft,  warm  hands  on  my  head,  and 
her  handkerchief  at  my  temple.     I  trembled. 

"He's  moving  I  He's  alive!"  she  said  with 
evident  relief  and  thanksgiving.  I  could  feel  her 
breath,  and  a  stray  lock  of  her  intoxicating  hair 
tickled  my  neck.  I  had  an  almost  irresistible  im- 
pulse to  come  to  and  kiss  her,  but  I  mastered  it  and 
remained  supine,  with  eyes  closed. 

Mama  was  giving  orders  in  stentorian  tones  to 
have  me  and  the  rest  of  the  "frightful  mess"  re- 
moved to  the  lower  regions  of  the  establishment. 

73 


ARISTOKIA 

Papa  said:  "Leave  the  bounder  to  the  servants, 
Gwendolyn.  Another  cup  of  coffee,  Rogers. 
There  's  ground  glass  in  this  one." 

Then  I  was  lifted  up  by  two  men,  who  started 
to  carry  me  out.  I  opened  my  eyes  and  I  looked 
for  Gwendolyn,  to  whom  I  appealed  mutely.  She 
smiled  at  me  encouragingly. 

"Take  him  to  the  blue  room  and  send  for  our 
doctor."     My  carriers  paused. 

"The  blue  room?  Don't  be  ridiculous,  Gwen- 
dolyn!" said  her  horrified  mama.  "Take  him  to 
the  servants'  quarters." 

"Send  him  to  the  public  hospital,"  interposed 
the  baron,  "and  place  him  under  arrest." 

"O  Papa,  don't  be  cruel !  Please  let  me  attend 
to  him!" 

"Gwendolyn !"  shrieked  mama. 

Papa  merely  stirred  his  fresh  cup  of  coffee,  ad- 
justed his  monocle,  and  remarked: 

"Phoebe,  your  daughter  appears  to  be  more  and 
more  of  a  catastrophic  reversion  to  type  each 
day." 

74 


ARISTOKIA 

"Well,  it  is  n't  my  fault!"  bellowed  the  baron- 
ess. 

"Thank  goodness,  there  's  one  member  of  this 
family  with  decent  human  feelings  I"  said  Gwen- 
dolyn, hotly. 

The  baron  sipped  his  coffee. 

"Don't  raise  your  voice,  my  dear.  Your  feel- 
ings are  distressingly  atavistic." 

At  this  juncture  a  flunky  entered,  and  bowed 
low  to  the  baron. 

"Hexcuse  me,  your  Lordship,  a  person  is  hout- 
side.  'E  says  as  'ow  this  person  dropped  hout  of 
'is  hairplane,  an'  'e  '11  take  'im  awye." 

Papa  Wigleigh  waved  a  hand  wearily,  indicat- 
ing that  I  be  removed  forthwith.  And  thus  ended 
my  little  visit  to  Gwendolyn  and  her  family. 

The  baron  had  not  recognized  me;  he  had 
scarcely  looked  at  me.  To  do  so  would  have  been 
to  evince  some  interest  in  my  existence.  From 
first  to  last  I  had  been  merely  an  annoyance,  an 
unpleasant  disturbance.  If  Hyde  had  n't  sent  for 
me,  Gwendolyn  might  have  won  her  point,  and 

IS 


ARISTOKIA 

then  I  might  have  enjoyed  the  exquisite  bliss  of 
several  hours  of  her  company.  I  could  have  mur- 
dered Hyde. 

When  I  was  stowed  away  in  the  machine,  and 
we  were  flying  back  to  the  HohenzoUern  I  began 
to  laugh.  Hyde  thought  I  was  delirious  and  told 
Auguste  to  hurry. 

"Some  of  the  scrambled  glass  got  mixed  up 
with  the  baron's  breakfast,"  I  explained  to  him. 
"That  was  your  fault,"  I  added. 

"My  fault!"  Hyde  looked  pained. 

"Yes.  If  you  had  n't  pulled  my  leg,  I  'd  have 
made  the  couch.     I  was  aiming  for  it." 

"You  did  n't  jump  on  purpose*?"  he  demanded, 
with  growing  horror. 

"Certainly.  How  else  could  I  see  the  inside  of 
an  Aristokian's  house*?  If  you  hadn't  come  for 
me,  they  would  have  taken  me  to  the  blue  room. 
And  she  was  going  to  nurse  me.  Now  I  must  con- 
tinue my  search  for  my  jewel." 

"You  'd  better  not  talk,  old  man.  We  '11  be 
at  the  hotel  in  a  moment.  Does  your  head  ache 
very  much*?" 

76 


ARISTOKIA 

"No.     There  's  a  song  of  victory  in  my  heart." 

Hyde  shook  his  head  sadly,  patted  me  on  the 
hand,  and  murmured  little  soothing  things  to  me. 

When  we  reached  the  hotel  they  carried  me  to 
my  room,  put  me  to  bed,  and  called  a  doctor,  with 
whom  Hyde  had  a  mysterious  consultation  in  whis- 
pers. The  doctor  dressed  my  scratches,  for  that 's 
all  they  were,  and  said  I  would  be  as  well  ''as 
ever''  by  the  next  day. 

Hyde  did  not  want  to  leave  me,  so  I  pre- 
tended to  fall  asleep,  and  then  he  tiptoed  out  of 
the  room. 

A  little  later  a  man  came  up  and  put  a  wire 
netting  in  all  the  windows.  As  he  passed  the  bed 
he  gave  me  a  funny  look.  I  winked  at  him,  and 
he  fled. 

In  the  evening  I  dined  in  my  room.  Hyde 
came  in.  He  seemed  very  much  troubled.  He 
said  he  had  had  a  wireless  calling  him  back  to 
America.  He  did  n't  like  to  leave  me,  and  wanted 
to  know  if  I  did  not  think  I  had  had  enough  of 
Aristokia.  He  would  be  glad  to  take  me  back 
to  my  people. 

77 


ARISTOKIA 

Poor  fellow  I  He  was  a  real  pal  with  a  big 
heart.  I  was  conscience-stricken,  and  tried  to 
reassure  him  as  to  my  mental  condition.  I  don't 
think  I  succeeded,  however,  for  he  said  good-by 
sorrowfully,  with  many  unspoken  misgivings.  I 
vowed  then  and  there  that  on  my  return  to  Amer- 
ica I  would  in  some  way  try  to  show  my  apprecia- 
tion for  his  great  kindness  to  me.  I  thought  of 
the  baron.  After  all,  there  was  something  to  be 
said  for  the  brotherhood  of  man. 


78 


CHAPTER  V 

AT  about  nine  o'clock,  shortly  after  Hyde 
had  left  me,  there  was  a  knock  at  my  door. 
I  opened  it,  and  there  stood  Fraulein  Chaperon. 
My  heart  jumped. 

"Is  she  with  you*?"  I  cried. 

''Ack,  nein!  Lady  Gwendolyn,  she  cannot 
come  to  hotels." 

I  asked  her  to  come  in,  and  closed  the  door.  She 
handed  me  a  very  lovely  bouquet  of  flowers  and 
a  note. 

Smithy  dear,  it  was  a  mad,  wonderful  thing  to  do. 
You  frightened  me  terribly.  I  am  in  disgrace  with  papa 
and  mama  for  showing  any  interest  in  you.  But  I  con- 
vinced papa  that  it  would  be  an  awful  bore  to  try  to 
convict  you  for  upsetting  his  breakfast.  Now  I  kriozv 
you  really  want  to  see  me.  If  you  are  well  enough  come 
to  the  little  iron  gate  at  the  east  end  of  our  garden  to- 
morrow night  at  moonrise,  Fraulein  will  let  you  in.  I 
do  hope  you  are  n't  badly  hurt,  Jack.  Now  do  you  see 
how  useful  the  lady  in  black  is? 

Gwendolyn. 

79 


ARISTOKIA 

I  could  have  kissed  the  lady  in  black  for  bring- 
ing me  this  note.  While  I  wrote  an  answer  to 
it,  Fraulein  found  a  vase,  filled  it  with  water,  and 
arranged  my  bouquet  for  me. 

I  do  not  know  how  I  lived  between  then  and 
the  rising  of  the  moon  the  following  night.  I 
cannot  remember  anything  I  did;  and  yet  at  the 
time  the  twenty-four  hours  seemed  an  eternity  in 
passing. 

But  at  last  the  endless  waiting  was  over,  the 
little  iron  gate  had  closed,  and  I  was  standing  with 
Gwendolyn  in  the  garden.  She  led  me  around  by 
a  narrow  pathway  to  a  bench  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  lake.  There  we  sat  and  watched  the  moon 
come  up  and  touch  the  world  with  silver  and  drip 
molten  silver  across  the  lake. 

We  spoke  in  whispers;  why,  I  do  not  know. 
The  wind  rustled  softly  in  the  trees,  and  the  gar- 
den was  filled  with  ghostly  fragrance.  Occasion- 
ally the  murmuring  silence  was  broken  by  the 
whirring  purr  of  a  motor  as  man  on  his  wings 
rushed  across  the  face  of  the  moon.  She  was 
dressed  in  shimmering  white  and  sat  close  to  me. 

80 


ARISTOKIA 

On  the  other  side  of  her,  on  guard,  alert,  was  the 
faithful  chaperon,  an  angel  in  black,  absorbed  by 
the  night. 

Gwendolyn  touched  the  scratch  on  my  forehead. 
I  held  her  hand  and  I  kissed  it.  That  was  all. 
We  did  not  speak  of  love,  but  of  a  thousand  things 
which  we  two  beings  from  different  worlds  found 
we  had  in  common. 

In  the  silence  I  caught  myself  thinking,  was 
this  I,  Capsule  Smith?  Could  this  be  the  end  of 
the  twentieth  century*?  How  remote  the  age's 
turmoil  and  materialistic  achievements  seemed  to 
me  in  this  old  terraced  garden  of  mysteries! 

Perhaps  I  could  have  induced  Gwendolyn  to 
fly  with  me  to  America.  How  quickly  I  would 
have  agreed  had  she  even  intimated  her  willing- 
ness to  adopt  such  a  course  I  I  might  have  kissed 
her  and  made  ardent  love  to  her,  or  she  might  have 
taken  such  steps  herself.  But  if  we  had,  what  a 
lot  of  romance,  adventure,  and  supreme  happiness 
we  should  have  missed!  How  much  less  would 
be  our  store  of  memories  now ! 

Our  modern  speed  is  a  curse;  our  modern  sex- 
81 


ARISTOKIA 

ual  relations  are  a  curse.  Life  for  us  has  lost  the 
unutterable  beauty  of  unfoldment.  Our  present- 
day  standards  have  robbed  most  women  of  the 
charm  that  was  Gwendolyn's.  She  never  yielded 
except  what  was  asked,  and  then  not  always.  She 
was  coy.  It  is  a  word  we  do  not  understand  any 
more. 

This  night  was  only  the  beginning.  We  had 
many  more  such  meetings,  some  by  moonlight, 
some  in  the  blazing  sunlight  of  noon,  at  twilight 
in  rain  and  wind,  and  on  black  nights  under  gold 
besprinkled  skies. 

In  all  this  time  we  did  not  speak  of  love  ex- 
cept in  the  abstract.  Instead  we  talked  of  life 
and  of  men  and  the  ways  of  men  in  her  world  and 
in  mine.  We  came  to  know  each  other  with  that 
subtle  understanding  which  makes  for  real  com- 
panionship. 

At  first  we  had  flirted  consciously,  but  that 
stage  passed  quickly.  One  does  not  flirt  except 
casually,  and  we  could  no  longer  be  casual.  Each 
became  interested  in  the  other  as  the  symbol  of  an 

82 


ARISTOKIA 

antipodal  idea.  She  was  Aristokia;  I  was  the 
Universal  Proletarian  Republic.  From  discus- 
sions in  the  abstract  and  descriptions  and  criticisms 
of  our  respective  worlds,  it  was  only  a  step,  and 
a  very  natural  one,  to  set  forth  and  propound  our 
ambitions. 

Gwendolyn  wanted  to  reform  Aristokia.  She 
purposed  to  retain  all  the  beauty,  culture,  art, 
and  fineness  of  that  strangely  esthetic  and  fastid- 
ious land,  and  to  rid  it  of  its  obsolete  customs,  its 
arrant  absurdities,  anachronisms,  and  formalisms. 
She  longed  to  free  it  from  the  inertia  of  accumu- 
lated tradition.  Gwendolyn  had  not  the  remot- 
est idea  how  she  would  accomplish  all  this,  but 
she  knew  it  to  be  her  destiny,  though  at  that  time 
women  in  Aristokia  were  no  better  off  in  respect  to 
political  power  than  they  had  been  in  the  world 
at  large  before  the  Great  War. 

My  ambitions  were  analogous,  but  on  a  much 
vaster  scale.  I  aimed  at  nothing  less  than  the  ab- 
solute overthrow  of  the  existing  social  order,  with 
its  iniquitous  tyranny  of  labor.     Gwendolyn  al- 

«3 


ARISTOKIA 

ways  maintained  that  she  would  achieve  some 
measure  of  success,  but  that  I  was  doomed  to  fail- 
ure. 

One  evening  we  stood  by  the  lake  in  her  gar- 
den. The  reflected  fires  of  the  setting  sun  smiled 
up  at  us.  We  were  tossing  small  pebbles  into  the 
water,  watching  the  picture  shatter  in  a  sudden 
splash  of  color  like  a  broken  stained-glass  window, 
then  undulate  and  re-form. 

"How  many  years  was  capital  up  and  labor 
down*?"  asked  Gwendolyn. 

I  started  to  answer  this  with  facile  levity  to 
the  effect  that  until  the  Great  Revolution  labor 
had  always  been  down ;  then  I  thought  an  instant. 
Gwendolyn  was  thinking  of  capital  and  labor  in 
the  industrial  phase.  Men  had  been  slaves  and 
serfs  for  centuries,  but  capital  and  labor  in  the 
modern  sense  was  the  twin  offspring  of  the  union 
of  coal  and  iron. 

"One  hundred  years,"  I  said.  "From  the  Na- 
poleonic wars  to  the  Great  War." 

Gwendolyn  looked  up  at  me  with  one  of  her 
sudden  smiles. 

84 


ARISTOKIA 

"Then,  Jackie,  you  will  be  eighty  years  old  be- 
fore you  realize  your  ambition.  You  have  fifty 
years  to  wait." 

Would  the  tyranny  of  labor  last  one  hundred 
years,  I  wondered.  I  threw  a  pebble  into  the 
lake  and  watched  the  chaos  of  color  gradually 
through  successive  rhythms  give  place  to  the 
ordered,  symmetrical  quiet  of  a  reflection  iden- 
tical to  the  one  we  had  seen  before  I  threw  the 
stone. 

"After  each  great  war  in  the  world's  history 
that  has  happened,"  I  said,  pointing  at  the  swirl 
of  color.  "Everything  has  gone  into  the  crucible, 
and  it  has  seemed  as  if  something  better  must  form 
afterward.  But  mankind  has  slipped  back  just 
as  that  reflection  is  slipping  back,  slowly,  rhyth- 
mically. Nineteen-nineteen,  nineteen-twenty — 
what  an  opportunity  they  had  I  But  man  was 
lymphatic,  and  the  gods  played  a  joke  on  him. 
They  threw  more  pebbles  I"  I  dashed  a  handful 
of  gravel  into  the  lake. 

We  were  both  silent  for  several  minutes.  Then 
Gwendolyn  suggested  that  her  world  and  mine 

85 


ARISTOKIA 

might  have  to  be  thrown  together  and  fused  again 
in  some  mightier  cataclysm. 

In  such  interchange  of  ideas  and  opinions  we 
spent  our  time  together.  All  discussion  of  our 
present  and  future  personal  relationship  was,  by 
an  unspoken  understanding,  taboo.  I  think  we 
both  felt  instinctively  that  once  love  and  passion 
entered  into  our  relations,  they  would  preclude 
all  other  emotions. 

Slowly  at  the  time,  and  with  uncanny  rapidity 
in  retrospect,  the  summer  passed. 

Of  course  all  was  not  smooth  sailing.  Two 
people  could  not  meet  clandestinely,  in  a  country 
where  such  meetings  were  illegal,  without  run- 
ning obvious  risks  and  encountering  hairbreadth 
escapes.  We  had  many  such,  one  of  which  was 
especially  noteworthy  and  unforgetable.  As  a 
result  of  it  I  became  at  first  an  involuntary,  and 
then  an  all-too-willing  inmate  of  Wigleigh  Hall. 

We  were  in  the  garden  one  evening  at  the  end 
of  an  excessively  hot  day.  An  uncanny  stillness 
enveloped  us.  The  air  was  torpid.  Every  now 
and  then  the  leaves  on  the  trees  about  us  shivered 

86 


ARISTOKIA 

in  anticipation  of  the  storm  which  was  slowly  ap- 
proaching with  long,  ponderous  reverberations  of 
distant  thunder  and  fitful  flashes  of  lightning. 
We  sat  and  watched  the  tempest's  almost  meas- 
ured tread  toward  us.  Steadily  the  thunder 
grew  louder,  the  lightning  more  brilliant.  It  was 
like  the  coming  of  a  vast  Juggernaut  with  rolling 
drums. 

We  had  caught  the  spell  of  the  drowsing  gar- 
den, and  were  unusually  silent.  Something  had 
been  said  about  the  advisability  of  my  taking  my 
departure  before  the  storm  broke,  but  nothing  had 
been  done  about  the  matter. 

For  nearly  two  hours  we  sat  in  fascinated  con- 
templation of  the  storm's  relentless  oncoming,  un- 
til it  seemed  to  us  that  so  it  must  continue,  like 
some  titanic  treadmill,  approaching  always  and 
arriving  never.  Gwendolyn  gave  expression  to 
that  thought,  but  the  literal-minded  chaperon  said 
something  to  the  effect  that  storms  which  kept 
coming  eventually  came. 

No  sooner  had  she  spoken  than  nature  proved 
her  a  prophet.     A  few  big  drops  fell   like  hot 

87 


ARISTOKIA 

tears  from  some  giant,  a  sudden  gust  of  wind,  a 
wild  splash,  and  then  the  deluge. 

We  ran  frantically  up  the  path  and  entered 
Wigleigh  Hall.  As  we  stood  in  a  group  and 
talked  about  our  escape  from  drowning,  a  puddle 
formed  on  the  floor. 

From  the  veI^y  first  Gwendolyn  and  I  had 
agreed  to  observe  the  reasonable  caution  of  meet- 
ing always  in  the  garden  and  never  in  the  house. 
So  this  was  the  first  time  that  I  had  set  foot  under 
the  baron's  roof  since  my  airplane  visit. 

As  I  was  already  in  the  house  Gwendolyn  de- 
cided that  I  might  as  well  stay  there  until  the 
storm  had  passed,  for  mama  and  papa  were  at  a 
dinner  party  at  Prince  Romanoff's,  from  which 
Gwendolyn  had  excused  herself  by  feigning  a 
headache  in  order  to  spend  the  evening  with  me. 

When  Gwendolyn  went  to  her  room  to  change 
her  dress  the  chaperon  led  me  through  a  maze  of 
corriders  to  one  of  the  servant's  rooms.  There 
a  frightened  young  man  who  was  pretending  not 
to  mind  the  storm,  was  told  to  lend  me  some 

88 


ARISTOKIA 

clothes.  The  young  man  asked  no  questions.  I 
volunteered  no  information. 

When  I  had  changed,  the  chaperon,  who  had 
waited  for  me  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood,  re- 
appeared and  conducted  me  to  Gwendolyn's  bou- 
doir. I  was  thrilled.  My  heart  beat  faster  than 
was  its  wont,  and  I  felt  a  strange  elation,  an  in- 
explicable exhilaration,  which  gave  a  touch  of 
unreality  to  all  I  saw,  heard,  did,  and  said. 
From  that  moment  I  understood  the  phrase 
"walking  en  air,"  which  I  had  encountered  often 
in  romantic  literature  and  had  thought  rather  silly, 
or  at  least  over-fanciful. 

The  boudoir  was  indescribably  beautiful.  It 
seemed  somehow  to  be  permeated  with  Gwendo- 
lyn's personality.  Every  chair  was  comfortable, 
the  colors  were  harmonious,  the  lights  soft,  low, 
restful.  Yes,  it  was  Gwendolyn,  but  a  new 
Gwendolyn,  a  Gwendolyn  in  a  fascinating  neg- 
ligee, intimate,  appealing,  entrancingly  feminine, 
and  with  a  soupgon  of  mystery  about  her. 

I  thought  myself  speechless,  but  suddenly  I  be- 

89 


ARISTOKIA 

came  aware  of  my  voice  saying,  "Your  boudoir, 
how  wonderful  I"  and  in  some  vague  way  I  knew 
it  was  not  the  first  time  that  I  had  said  it.  Gwen- 
dolyn was  laughing,  but  not  so  much  at  me  as 
with  me. 

"What 's  the  matter,  Jackie?" 

"You  're — you  're  so  different — here,"  I  stam- 
mered. 

"That 's  rather  a  questionable  compliment." 

"Not  at  all.  I  knew  the  first  time  that  I  saw 
you  that  you  would  be  wonderful  in  a  thousand 
different  ways,  but  how  could  I  tell  just  what 
the  wonders  would  be?  Now  I  have  been 
vouchsafed  acquaintance  with  yet  another 
wonder." 

"It  is  n't  I."  She  laughed  softly  again.  "It 's 
the  lighting,  Jackie  dear.  I  'm  glad  you  like  my 
boudoir,"  she  added  pensively.  "It 's  the  only 
comfortable  room  in  the  house.  As  long  as 
you  're  here  now,  I  ought  to  take  you  for  a  tour  of 
the  establishment.  You  may  never  have  another 
opportunity.  Mama  and  papa  won't  be  home 
for  hours.     The  Romanoffs  always  have  stuffy 

90 


ARISTOKIA 

dinners.     Besides,  mama  and  papa  can't  possibly 
fly  back  in  this  storm." 

I  wanted  to  stay  in  the  boudoir,  but  I  knew  that 
if  I  did,  I  should  surely  make  love  to  Gwendolyn. 
And  then,  too,  I  was  curious  to  see  the  mansion. 

Gwendolyn  read  my  thoughts,  I  think,  for  she 
said  with  an  enigmatic  smile: 

"We  can  be  cozy  when  we  come  back.  It  won't 
take  long." 

And  with  that  she  led  the  way.  I  followed, 
and  behind  us  trailed  the  chaperon.  Did  n't  the 
poor  woman  ever  get  tired  of  following  Gwen- 
dolyn about,  I  wondered. 

"First  we  '11  visit  mama's  apartment,  very  gor- 
geous, Louis  Quatorze.     After  you  see  it  and  real-   ^ 
ize  that  mama  lives  in  it  you  '11  understand  her  y' 
better." 

"It 's  a  room  in  a  museum,"  I  gasped  as  we  en- 
tered.    "She  does  n't  sleep  in  that  bed,  does  she?" 

"Yes.  Does  n't  this  make  mama  clear  to  you, 
Jackie  *?" 

"No.  It  only  makes  you  more  inexplicable 
than  ever,"  1  replied. 

91 


ARISTOKIA 

"This  is  mother's  boudoir,"  announced  Gwen- 
dolyn as  we  entered  a  slightly  smaller  room  done 
in  the  same  stupendous  manner.  "This  door  leads 
to  papa's  sanctum  sanctorum." 

Never  was  contrast  more  abysmal.  Papa's  den 
was  utterly  English,  heavy,  dark,  mahogany,  rich, 
eternal.  There  were  books;  the  man  actually 
read  I  And  everywhere  were  framed  engravings 
of  notable  coats  of  arms. 

"Father's  hobby  is  heraldry,"  said  Gwendolyn. 

A  door  was  open  into  an  adjoining  room. 

"That 's  his  bedroom."  She  pointed  through 
the  door. 

I  walked  in,  I  had  hardly  glanced  about  when 
the  chaperon  emitted  a  noise  which  was  the  result 
of  a  groan  turning  into  a  squeak.  I  turned. 
Gwendolyn  turned.  The  chaperon  was  white  and 
trembling  visibly.  In  the  study  from  which  we 
had  just  come  stood  the  cause  of  her  agitation,  the 
baron  I 

"Mein  Gottl  Mein  Gott!"  the  chaperon  re- 
peated helplessly. 

Now  we  were  in  for  it ! 
92 


ARISTOKIA 

"Quick  I"  said  Gwendolyn,  and  running  past  me 
she  seized  one  of  my  hands  and  dragged  me  toward 
the  door  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  room. 

As  we  crossed  the  bedroom  I  remember  thinking 
that  this  would  be  one  charge  that  the  baron  would 
press  and  one  arrest  that  he  would  see  through 
to  the  end.     I  tripped  over  a  rug. 

"That  you,  Jenkins?"  the  baron  called  out. 

We  reached  the  door;  Gwendolyn  pushed  me 
ahead  of  her.  But  it  was  too  late;  the  baron 
was  in  the  room. 

"Fraulein,  what  are  you  doing  in  here?"  he 
asked.  "Gwendolyn,  my  dear — who 's  that?" 
"That"  meant  me.  My  mouth  opened  and  closed. 
Not  a  sound  emerged.  But  it  did  not  matter. 
The  baron  went  on  talking.  "How  's  your  head- 
ache, my  dear?  Much  better,  of  course.  Ex- 
traordinary headaches  you  have  lately.  They 
come  and  go  with  such  precision.  Where  's  Jen- 
kins?" 

He  paused.  The  jig  was  up,  I  told  myself; 
he  suspected  Gwendolyn.  He  had  come  home  on 
purpose. 

93 


ARISTOKIA 

I  caught  sight  of  the  chaperon.  She  was  pet- 
rified, like  a  little  stone  image  of  some  pagan  god. 
Her  face  was  ashen  gray.  I  looked  at  Gwen- 
dolyn. She  was  quite  composed  and  smiled  reas- 
suringly. 

''Khat-chool" 

I  almost  jumped  out  of  my  skin.  The  baron 
was  sneezing  violently. 

"Got  caught  in  the  beastly  storm,"  he  said  as 
soon  as  he  had  stopped  sneezing.  "Soaking  wet. 
Must  take  a  hot  bath  or  I  '11  die  of  cold.  Silly 
way  to  die,  that."  Suddenly  he  looked  at  me  and 
took  a  step  toward  me.     "That  face,  that  face!" 

Instinctively  my  hands  went  up  to  hide  the 
offending  physiognomy. 

"What 's  the  matter  with  it,  papa*?" 

"Familiar,  damned  familiar  I  Where's  Jen- 
kins?'' 

Gwendolyn  ignored  his  question, 

"Naturally  his  face  is  familiar.  You  've  seen 
him  before." 

"His  clothes  look  like  Jenkins's,  but  his  face 
does  n't,"  said  the  baron. 

94 


ARISTOKIA 

I  looked  at  myself  askance,  and  for  the  first  time 
realized  that  I  had  on  a  valet's  outfit,  and  was 
therefore  reasonably  safe  unless  the  baron  remem- 
bered me. 

"Jenkins  has  left,"  Gwendolyn  was  saying. 
"This  I  presume  is  Smith,  the  new  man  you  en- 
gaged. I  came  in  to  look  for  a  book,  and  found 
him  here." 

The  baron  looked  at  me  sharply. 

"I  engaged  him'?" 

"Why,  yes.  Father;  yesterday." 

"Yesterday!  Yesterday!  Beastly  bore;  can't 
remember.  Face  is  familiar."  Another  violent 
fit  of  sneezing  gave  a  new  direction  to  his  dis- 
course. "Daughter,  Fraulein,  get  out!  Man — 
whatever  your  name  is — " 

"Smith,  sir,"  I  interposed. 

"  'Your  Lordship,' "  whispered  Gwendo- 
lyn. 

"No,  no;  not  Smith,"  continued  the  baron. 
"Draw  tub,  lay  out  pajamas,  take  off  shoes. 
Good  night,  Gwendolyn." 

The  poor  little  chaperon  fairly  fled  from  the 

95 


ARISTOKIA 

room,  squeezing  past  Gwendolyn,  who  had  turned 
in  the  doorway. 

Gwendolyn  smiled  at  me  with  her  eyes  and 
said:     ''Good  night,  dear." 

Papa  thought  of  course  that  these  bounties  were 
meant  for  him,  and  repeated  vaguely.  "Good 
night,  good  night." 

He  sat  down,  and  I  prepared  to  remove  his 
shoes.  The  door  closed.  I  was  alone  with 
Baron  Wigleigh.  I  heard  Gwendolyn  laughing  as 
she  went  down  the  corridor.  I  was  far  from 
laughing.  What  I  did  not  know  about  the  art  of 
being  a  valet  would  have  made  an  interesting  uni- 
versity course. 

"So  somebody  called  Smith  begat  you,  and  now 
you  have  to  go  through  life  with  a  name  that  has 
become  the  symbol  of  a  class.  Too  bad  I"  said  the 
baron  as  I  removed  his  right  shoe. 

I  wondered  if  menials  thanked  barons  for  sym- 
pathy. 

"I  sha'n't  call  you  Smith." 

"What  would  your  Lordship  like  to  call  me?" 

96 


ARISTOKIA 

I  asked  in  my  best  valet  manner  as  I  removed  his 
left  shoe. 

"I  shall  name  you  something  appropriate  after 
I  know  you  better.  A  man's  name  should  fit 
him." 

"Yes,  your  Lordship." 

"Are  you  just  agreeing  or  do  you  really  think 
so?' 

"I  really  think  so,  your  Lordship." 

"You  think  I     How  extraordinary !" 

After  a  little  rummaging  in  drawers  I  found  his 
pajamas.  I  placed  them  on  the  bed.  In  a  closet 
I  discovered  some  slippers.  Thank  Heaven  that 
barons  did  not  differ  from  most  mortals  when  it 
came  to  these  matters!  I  put  the  slippers  on  his 
feet,  then  I  went  to  the  bath-room,  a  vast  place 
in  which  the  "tub"  was  a  small  swimming-pool 
sunk  below  the  level  of  the  room.  There  was  a 
shower  also,  and  along  the  walls  were  various 
gymnastic  instruments. 

"I  like  my  tub  at  ninety-eight  degrees  Fahren- 
heit," said  the  baron. 

97 


ARISTOKIA 

Fastened  to  the  side  of  the  lake  he  called  a  tub 
was  a  thermometer.  Water  flowed  into  this  pool 
and  drained  out  continuously  so  that  to  keep  the 
water  at  a  temperature  of  ninety-eight  was  simply 
a  matter  of  regulating  the  proportion  of  hot  to  cold 
water  in  the  inflow.  This  I  accomplished  with 
little  difficulty. 

Presently  the  baron  entered.  He  removed  his 
bath-robe,  which  he  must  have  found  for  himself, 
since  I  had  completely  forgotten  the  existence  of 
such  a  thing,  and  stepped  into  the  pool.  He 
swam  about,  in  some  way  contriving  to  keep  his 
monocled  eye  dry. 

I  thought  I  ought  to  leave;  but  he  seemed  to 
expect  me  to  stay,  so  I  remained.  I  caught  my- 
self thinking:  "All  naked  men  look  alike. 
What  makes  a  baron  ^"  Of  course  there  was  that 
glass  eye.  How  the  dickens  did  he  manage  to 
keep  it  in  while  he  swam  about?  I  wanted  to  ask 
him,  but  a  fortunate  sense  of  discretion  restrained 
me. 

His  head  bobbed  up. 

"You  may  fix  me  a  hot  toddy,"  he  said. 

98 


ARISTOKIA 

"Yes,  sir — your  Lordship." 

What  the  deuce  was  a  hot  toddy?  I  tried  to 
remember,  but  this  must  be  one  alcoholic  beverage 
which  I  had  missed. 

"Where  shall  I  find  it,  your  Lordship*?" 

"You  can't  find  2/,"  he  replied  and  began  splash- 
ing about. 

I  thought  this  over.     He  looked  at  me  amused. 

'7/  does  n't  exist  until  you  create  it." 

"I  meant  where  should  I  find  the  ingredients, 
your  Lordship." 

"You  should  always  say  what  you  mean.  You 
will  find  everything  you  require  except  hot  water 
in  the  cellaret  in  my  study.  And  over  there," — 
he  pointed  to  the  wash-stand, — "is  a  tap  marked 
'hot  drinking-water.'  Just  a  dash  of  lemon.  I 
don't  like  it  too  sour." 

Well,  at  any  rate,  I  had  discovered  that  the 
thing  called  "toddy"  was  made  with  hot  water  and 
had  a  dash  of  lemon  in  it. 

I  went  into  the  study.  It  took  me  a  little  time 
to  discover  that  a  curious  cabinet-like  piece  of 
furniture  opened  up  and  contained  many  bottles. 

99 


ARISTOKIA 

I  looked  them  over.  There  were  a  lot  of  those 
things  called  cordials,  port,  sherry,  whisky,  and  a 
bottle  the  label  of  which  bore  many  coats  of  arms 
and  merely  said,  "Scotch."  I  had  n't  the  faintest 
idea  what  liquid  one  put  into  a  toddy  or  in  what 
proportion  to  the  hot  water.  This  was  going  to 
be  a  frightful  experiment.  I  looked  at  the  bottles 
again. 

I  picked  up  a  glass  and  held  it  to  the  light.  It 
was  immaculate.  I  groaned.  My  career  as  a 
valet  hung  in  the  balance.  Then  among  the  bot- 
tles I  spied  a  bowl  of  granulated  sugar.  Anything 
with  a  dash  of  lemon  in  it  must  have  a  dash  of 
sugar,  too.  Besides,  had  not  the  baron  said,  "not 
too  sour'"?  I  hurriedly  dumped  a  spoonful  of 
sugar  into  the  glass.  I  returned  to  my  perusal 
of  the  labels.  Words  echoed  in  my  mind. 
"Father's  hobby  is  heraldr}%"  Gwendolyn  had  re- 
marked. "Heraldry  I"  My  poor  brain  repeated 
it.  The  bottle  marked  "Scotch"  had  more  coats 
of  arms  on  it  than  any  other.  I  seized  it  quickly 
before  I  had  time  to  weaken,  and  half  filled  my 

100 


ARISTOKIA 

tumbler  with  its  contents.  I  stirred  the  sugar  and 
added  the  dash  of  lemon.  Then  I  marched  off  to 
get  the  hot  water. 

As  I  passed  through  the  bedroom  the  baron, 
now  attired  in  pink  pajamas,  was  clambering  into 
bed.     He  looked  at  the  glass  in  my  hand. 

"Is  n't  that  rather  a  stiff  dose*?"  he  asked. 

I  had  not  the  remotest  idea  what  he  meant.  So 
I  compromised. 

"Does  your  Lordship  think  so*?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  perhaps  to  cure  a  cold — "  He  nodded 
his  head.  "If  I  become  loquacious  in  my  sleep,  it 
really  won't  matter."     He  waved  his  hand  at  me. 

I  continued  into  the  bath-room,  added  the  hot 
water,  and  returned.  I  handed  the  tumbler  to 
the  baron,  and  did  n't  know  whether  to  run  for 
my  life  or  await  the  results  of  my  concoction.  He 
sipped  it,  and  then  looked  at  me. 

"Extraordinary  I"  he  murmured. 

I  waited,  certain  that  death-sentence  was  about 
to  be  passed  on  the  new  valet. 

"You  made  it  with  Scotch  instead  of  rye  I" 

101 


ARISTOKIA 

I  swallowed  hard. 

"Yes,  your  Lordship."  I  could  think  of  no 
adequate  defense. 

"Ninety-nine  persons  out  of  one  hundred  would 
have  made  it  with  rye.  I  prefer  Scotch.  Thank 
you — Watson." 

"Is  that  to  be  my  name,  your  Lordship  ■?"  I  in- 
quired, treating  the  matter  of  the  Scotch  with  out- 
ward indifference,  but  inwardly  blessing  my  luck. 

"Yes.  Watson  is  a  person  who  interprets  his 
master's  wishes  and  appreciates  his  good  taste. 
Good  night,  Watson.  I  shall  go  right  to  sleep. 
You  may  open  all  the  windows  and  put  out  the 
lights.  Awaken  me  at  eight  o'clock.  Remind 
me  that  I  must  prepare  a  paper  for  the  Royal 
Blues." 

I  did  as  he  directed.  As  I  closed  the  door  be- 
hind me  I  heard  the  baron  murmur : 

"A  Watson  at  last !     Thank  God !" 

Outside  in  the  corridor  I  ran  into  the  pathetic 
little  chaperon,  who  stared  at  me  with  startled 
eyes.  I  don't  think  she  had  expected  to  see  me 
alive  again. 

102 


ARISTOKIA 

"Ach^  Gott  in  Himmeir  she  exclaimed. 
"Miss  Gwendolyn  she  would  know  what  hap- 
pened." 

"Tell  Miss  Gwendolyn  that  as  a  valet  I  am  a 
triumphant  success.  My  name  is  Watson,"  I 
added  grandly. 

''Colossal I  Wundervolir'  came  in  tones  of 
admiration  from  the  slowly  reviving  chaperon. 

We  reached  the  chamber  in  which  I  was  to 
spend  the  night.  Fraulein  bade  me  good  night 
and  left  me. 

While  I  undressed,  I  decided  that  my  days  as 
a  tourist  were  over.  Watson  chance  had  made 
me,  and  Watson  I  would  remain  until  some  faux 
pas  of  mine  brought  down  on  me  the  baron's  dis- 
pleasure.    I  got  into  bed  and  turned  out  the  light. 

Somewhere  under  the  same  roof  Gwendolyn 
slept,  or  lay  awake  thinking  of  me  as  I  was  think- 
ing of  her.  There  was  something  about  this 
thought  that  sent  me  into  Slumberland  more 
serenely  and  mellifluously  than  I  had  ever  gone 
before. 


103 


CHAPTER  VI 

I  AWOKE  to  the  sound  of  my  own  voice  say- 
ing "Gwendolyn."  For  a  moment  I  was 
startled  by  the  strange  room;  then  recollection 
came  most  pleasantly.  I  was  in  Gwendolyn's 
home,  I  could  be  near  her  always,  I  could  see  her 
unnumbered  times  a  day.  My  eye  rested  on  a 
clock.  It  was  7 145  a.  m.  I  jumped  out  of  bed 
and  dressed  hurriedly.  In  ecstatic  contemplation 
of  my  good  fortune  I  had  almost  forgotten  that  I 
was  now  Watson  and  that  Watson  had  duties  to 
perform. 

At  eight  o'clock  I  entered  the  baron's  room. 
He  was  snoring.  I  stood  and  watched  him. 
How  did  a  valet  honored  by  the  name  of  Watson 
awaken  a  baron?  Did  one  call,  or  would  it  be 
necessary  to  shake  him'? 

As  I  considered  this  problem  I  listened  fasci- 
nated to  the  baronial  snoring.  There  is  something 
soul-absorbing  about   a   real   snore.     One   never 

104 


ARISTOKIA 

knows  just  what  it  will  do  next.  Now  it  is  a  purr, 
anon  a  gurgle,  a  chirp,  a  wheeze,  suddenly  a 
whistle,  and  then  a  sputter.  Some  one  should 
write  a  treatise  on  the  great  variety  and  yet  ex- 
traordinary rhythmic  recurrence  of  snores. 

It  was  two  minutes  past  eight.  I  must  awaken 
him.  I  must  awaken  him.  The  intensity  of  my 
wish  brought  the  desired  result.  With  a  terrific 
cachinnation  he  awoke.  He  looked  at  me  with 
one  eye;  the  one  usually  adorned  with  his  monocle 
he  kept  closed. 

"Another  day.  Beastly  bore;  probably  just 
like  yesterday,"  he  half  yawned. 

"Good  morning,  your  Lordship,"  I  said. 

"Ah,  Watson  I  I  was  afraid  I  had  dreamed 
you." 

"Two  and  a  half  minutes  past  eight,  your  Lord- 
ship." 

He  was  pawing  about  on  the  table  beside  his 
bed  with  outstretched  arm  and  hand.  I  jumped 
to  his  assistance,  and  without  stopping  to  think 
gave  him  his  glass  eye.  He  stuck  it  in,  and  turned 
and  beamed  on  me. 

105 


ARISTOKIA 

"Watson,  indeed  I"  was  his  comment. 

The  day  was  starting  auspiciously  for  the  new 
valet. 

The  baron  slid  out  of  bed. 

"Even  you^  Watson,  cannot  be  expected  to 
know  every  man's  routine.  I  bathe,  shave,  dress, 
in  that  order.  You  prepare  my  bath,  lay  out  my 
clothes.  And  while  I  am  dressing,  you  remind 
me  of  any  little  thing  I  may  have  forgotten." 

Something  he  said  made  me  shudder  at  the 
thought  of  possible  consequences ;  but  I  resolutely 
put  it  out  of  my  mind  and  turned  my  attention  to 
his  bath.  I  would  cross  bridges  as  I  came  to 
them. 

"And  at  what  temperature  do  we  take  our  morn- 
ing bath^"  I  asked  glibly. 

Why  I  had  used  this  obsolete  editorial  form  of 
expression  I  could  not  tell.  I  must  have  read  it 
somewhere  in  a  silly  novel.  The  moment  the 
phrase  was  out  of  my  mouth  I  regretted  it,  for  the 
baron  was  looking  at  me  intently.  At  last  he 
spoke. 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,  Watson,  for  the  perfect 
106 


ARISTOKIA 

man  is  part  of  his  master,  and  the  master  is  de- 
pendent on  the  art  of  his  man.  We  will  take  a 
cold  plunge  this  morning,  Watson." 

I  had  scored  another  hit.  Such  good  fortune 
was  uncanny.  I  began  to  be  suspicious.  Surely 
something  frightful  would  befall  me  soon  to  even 
the  score  of  fickle  chance. 

All  through  the  bath  and  the  baron's  exercising 
afterward  a  terrible  thought  pounded  at  my  con- 
sciousness: Should  I  have  to  shave  him?  If  I 
did,  should  I  kill  him,  wound  him,  or  disfigure  him 
for  life?     What  would  happen? 

When  he  finished  his  exercises,  he  turned  to 
me. 

"And  now  for  our  shave,  Watson." 

I  quaked.  Tlys  was  the  end;  I  could  not  do  it. 
He  was  Gwendolyn's  father.     I  must  fly. 

"You  will  find  the  telephone  over  there,"  he 
said,  pointing. 

With  the  dawn  of  hope  in  my  heart  I  went 
over  to  the  instrument.  It  had  several  buttons, 
which  one  pushed  to  get  the  desired  connection, 
and  one  of  these  buttons  was  marked  "Barber." 

107 


ARISTOKIA 

I  had  escaped  an  impending  catastrophe.     My 
star  was  in  the  ascendant. 

The  barber  was  a  little  rat-like  creature,  with  a 
quick,  nervous  manner,  close-set  eyes,  and  brick- 
red  hair.  It  made  me  jumpy  to  see  him  with  a 
razor  in  his  hand,  though  he  wielded  it  dex- 
terously. He  shaved  the  baron  quickly  and 
silently.  He  said,  "Good  morning,"  on  entering 
and  "Good-by,"  when  he  left;  that  was  all. 

"He  's  an  anarchist,"  remarked  the  baron  after 
the  barber  had  gone.  "I  think  he  became  a  bar- 
ber solely  in  order  to  kill  people  neatly.  He  's  the 
best  one  in  Aristokia." 

"Isn't  your  Lordship  afraid?"  I  asked. 

"Certainly  not.  Why  should  he  kill  me? 
He  's  a  super-anarchist.  He  wants  to  kill  off  the 
proletariat,  not  the  aristocracy.  No  such  thing 
as  anarchy,  Watson.  If  chaos  were  the  social 
order,  then  chaos  would  be  a  tyranny.  One  can't 
escape  it.  Freedom  is  the  great  delusion.  All 
\   democrats  are  crazy." 

I  considered  these  words  worth  remembering,  so 
I  wrote  them  down  in  shorthand  on  my  cuff. 

108 


ARISTOKIA 

The  baron  had  been  dressing,  and  was  now 
ready  for  his  suit.  Then  it  was  that  I  made  my 
first  mistake.  In  one  closet  there  hung  several 
suits.  On  a  shelf  above  them  were  their  labels, 
"Morning  Coats."  Farther  along  were  "Sack 
Suits."     I  took  down  a  morning  coat. 

The  baron  looked  at  me  in  pained  surprise. 

"Surely,  Watson,  we  would  n't  wear  a  morning 
coat  before  noon,  would  we?  One  of  my  gray 
sack  suits." 

Why  one  should  not  wear  a  morning  coat  in  the 
morning  was  incomprehensible  to  me. 

"Your  Lordship  has  a  paper  to  prepare  for  the 
Royal  Blues,"  I  reminded  him,  changing  the  sub- 
ject. 

"Yes,  Watson,  a  paper  on  the  advisability  of 
permitting  the  Royal  Blues  to  marry  outside  of 
their  caste.  The  Hohenzollerns  have  inbred  to  a 
suicidal  degree."  The  baron  was  dressed.  "Be 
in  my  study  at  ten  o'clock,  Watson.  My  secre- 
tary is  a  bourgeois  ass,  a  mere  amanuensis.  He 
does  n't  stimulate  my  mind.  I  want  to  tell  you 
about  my  paper." 

109 


ARISTOKIA 

"Yes,  your  Lordship." 

I  bowed,  and  the  baron  passed  out. 

While  the  baron  and  the  baroness  breakfasted 
I  was  sequestered  in  Gwendolyn's  boudoir,  the 
faithful  but  now  very  jumpy  chaperon  on  guard. 

"Good  morning,  Gwendolyn,"  I  began. 

"I  just  sent  for  you  to  say  good-by,"  she  said, 
"for  now  's  your  chance  to  skip,  Jackie.  We  can 
meet  in  the  garden  to-morrow  night.  This  eve- 
ning we  are  giving  a  dinner  party,  and  I  'm  afraid 
my  headache  is  overworked."  I  looked  at  her. 
"What 's  the  matter^"  she  inquired. 

I  was  smiling  at  her  indulgently. 

"I  'm  not  going  to  leave,  Gwendolyn.  I  'm  go- 
ing to  stay  on  forever  as  your  father's  valet." 

"You  madman  I  You  can't  I"  she  protested, 
incredulous,     "Jack,  you  're  not  serious!" 

"I  am.  I  think  your  father  is  wonderful;  he 
thinks  I  'm  wonderful.  We  suit  each  other  per- 
fectly." 

"Stop  teasing  me,  Jack,"  she  pleaded. 

I  told  of  my  adventures  with  her  father,  and 

110 


ARISTOKIA 

by  the  end  of  my  narrative  she  began  to  weaken, 
finally  convinced  that  I  was  in  earnest. 

"For  your  dear  father's  sake  let  me  stay.  One 
can't  get  a  Watson  every  day,  you  know." 

"O  Jackie,"  she  said,  suddenly  tender,  laying  a 
hand  gently  on  my  arm,  "you  know  I  'd  love  to 
have  you,  don't  you?"  I  looked  into  her  eyes  by 
way  of  answer,  and  my  heart  beat  faster.  "But 
— it 's  impossible.  Jack.  We  '11  get  caught. 
The  people  dining  here  to-night  will  recognize 
you." 

Before  either  of  us  could  convince  the  other, 
Fraulein  sounded  a  tocsin.  The  baroness  was  ap- 
proaching, 

I  had  my  morning  repast  in  the  servitor's  hall 
alone,  every  one  else  having  breakfasted  earlier. 
The  frightened  young  man  of  the  night  before 
waited  on  me. 

A  footman  and  a  butler,  passing  the  entrance  to 
the  hall,  scowled  at  me, 

"  'E  's  the  chap  who  fell  through  the  glass,  Hi 
tell  yerl     Hi  bought  to  know.     Hi  lugged  'im 

111 


ARISTOKIA 

hout,"  the  footman  informed  the  butler  with  acer- 
bity. 

"Hi  '11  bet  'e  'as  n't  got  a  union-card,"  said  the 
butler. 

"Well,  if  'e  'as  n't,  hout  'e  goes.  No  scabs  in 
this  'ouse." 

With  these  disconcerting  remarks  they  passed 
beyond  earshot.  I  looked  up  from  my  food,  for 
which  I  had  suddenly  lost  all  predilection,  and 
caught  the  eye  of  the  frightened  young  man,  who 
looked  more  startled  than  ever  and  pretended  to 
busy  himself  wiping  a  plate.  I  swallowed  my 
coifee  hurriedly  and  arose. 

I  walked  to  a  window  overlooking  the  garden. 
The  baron  was  taking  his  constitutional;  Gwen- 
dolyn was  nowhere  in  sight. 

Damn  the  unions !  I  must  see  Gwendolyn  and 
explain  this  new  complication.  In  the  enjoyment 
of  adventure  in  Aristokia  I  had  quite  forgotten 
that  the  proletariat  ruled  the  world. 

Although  they  condescended  to  engage  them- 
selves to  the  Aristokians,  they  were  known  as  servi- 
tors, not  servants.     They  abided  by  all  the  cus- 

112 


ARISTOKIA 

toms  of  nobility  and  etiquette,  and  in  turn  de- 
manded implicit  obedience  to  their  union  rules. 
They  received  fabulous  wages,  and  it  was  tacitly 
understood  that  they  were  the  real  masters  of  the 
world.  The  Aristokians  were  in  a  sense  political 
prisoners,  albeit  voluntary  prisoners  in  their  own 
country. 

It  being  not  yet  ten  o'clock,  I  wandered  about 
the  corridors  of  the  house,  hoping  for  a  chance  to 
see  Gwendolyn  and  have  a  few  words  with  her. 
Failing  in  my  quest,  I  continued  on  my  way  to  the 
baron's  study,  and  then,  as  I  passed  the  open  door 
of  the  baroness's  boudoir,  I  espied  Gwendolyn,  but 
her  mother  was  with  her. 

That  great  dame  looked  at  me  in  shocked  sur- 
prise and  clutched  her  daughter's  arm. 

"Who's  that?"  she  cried. 

"Father's  new  valet,  I  believe,"  replied  Gwen- 
dolyn, with  an  indifference  worthy  of  her 
sire. 

But  the  baroness  knew  better.  She  was  puffing 
from  too  much  breakfast  and  explosive  with  ex- 
citement. 

113 


ARISTOKIA 

"Why,  my  dear,  it 's  that  fellow  who  smashed 
through  the  roof  I" 

"Do  you  really  think  so?  I  don't  remember 
him,"  lied  Gwendolyn. 

"I  could  n't  forget  his  face.  Don't  you  remem- 
ber, my  dear,  I  said  it  was  a  crime  for  Nobodies 
to  be  so  good-looking?" 

"I  'm  surprised  that  you  should  notice  such 
things,"  said  Gwendolyn  in  papa's  best  manner. 

It  was  a  hit,  a  palpable  hit.  The  baroness 
spluttered.  She  gurgled  something  about  looking 
on  male  Nobodies  as  one  looked  on  furniture  or 
sunsets  or —  Then  she  got  terribly  mixed  and 
ruffled,  for  Gwendolyn  was  laughing  at  her. 

I  was  standing  around  the  corner  of  the  cor- 
ridor where  I  could  hear  without  being  seen,  and 
I  heard  footsteps  as  a  third  person  joined  them. 

"George!"  exploded  the  baroness, — that  was 
Baron  Wigleigh's  Christian  name ;  all  the  Boggses 
had  been  George  for  generations, — "George !" 

"Yes,  my  dear?  What  stupendous  trifle  has 
discommoded  you  now?" 

"Your  new  valet — "  began  mama. 
114 


ARISTOKIA 

"Ah-h,  Watson  I"  said  the  baron. 

"He  's  the  person  who  fell  through  the  glass 
and  spoiled  your  breakfast."     She  got  no  further. 

"Impossible  I" 

"Well,  why  is  it  impossible?  I  tell  you,  I  re- 
member him.     You  never  remember  anybody." 

"It  is  very  banal  to  remember  people,  my  dear 
Phoebe,"  drawled  the  baron. 

His  wife  ignored  this  remark  and  repeated 
vehemently:     "Why  is  it  impossible*?" 

"Because  his  name  is  Watson,"  replied  the 
baron,  starting  in  my  direction. 

I  walked  quickly  from  my  hiding  place  into  the 
study.  The  baron,  in  my  wake,  left  behind  him  a 
noisily  inarticulate  wife.  The  poor  woman's  life 
was  evidently  a  great  trial  to  her,  between  the 
humors  of  her  daughter  and  the  quaintness  of  her 
husband's  mind. 

"Ah,  Watson,"  chirped  the  baron,  pleasantly. 
Then  his  gaze  wandered  to  a  corner  of  the  room, 
and  he  nodded  perfunctorily  to  an  amazingly  old- 
looking  young  man  who  stood  beside  the  stenotype 
machine. 

115 


ARISTOKIA 

"Good  morning,  your  Lordship.  Did  your 
Lordship  sleep  well?"  the  young-old  man  whined 
in  a  plaintively  solicitous  tone. 

The  baron  merely  grunted  a  response.  It  was 
palpable  that  this  worm  of  indefinite  and  indeter- 
minable age  annoyed  him. 

"Watson,  my  secretary,  Mr.  Ambrose  Tibbets. 
He  writes  much  faster  than  I  can  talk."  By 
which  the  baron  meant  to  convey  the  impression 
that  this  was  the  only  thing  with  which  to  com- 
mend his  secretary. 

While  the  baron  prepared  himself  for  his  work, 
I  examined  the  stenotype.  It  was  one  of  the 
latest  American  models.  The  shorthand  hiero- 
glyphics on  the  keys  were  of  the  standard  system, 
and  the  only  way  in  which  the  machine  surprised 
me  was  in  the  writing  it  produced;  for  instead  of 
being  in  ordinary  roman  type,  it  was  in  longhand 
script.  The  baron  was-  evidently  trying  to  com- 
promise with  a  utilitarian  world.  It  greatly 
amused  me. 

Mr.  Tibbits  explained  to  me. 

"His  Lordship  did  n't  like  his  letters  typed,  so 
116 


ARISTOKIA 

I  suggested  to  him  that  a  machine  could  be  made 
that  would  reproduce  his  handwriting." 

"And  Tibbits  has  been  basking  in  the  glory  of 
his  achievement  ever  since,"  said  the  baron.  The 
amanuensis  smiled  gratefully.  "Tibbits,  Watson 
is  here  to  inspire  me.  He  is  my  stimulus,  the 
necessary  offset  to  the  mental  atrophy  which  seizes 
me  when  I  look  at  you." 

Ambrose  smirked  as  if  he  had  received  a  great 
compliment.  He  ceased  to  be  a  person  in  my  eyes 
and  became  a  symbol  of  his  class.  Here  was  the 
incarnation  of  the  servility  and  stupidity  of  the 
bourgeoisie,  a  class  which,  although  a  national  ma- 
jority everywhere,  had  let  itself  be  despoiled  by 
minorities. 

Tibbits's  father,  grandfather,  and  great-grand- 
father had  been  small-salaried  men.  Millions  of 
Tibbitses  had  let  themselves  be  ground  to  dust  be- 
tween the  extortions  of  capital  and  the  oppressions 
of  labor.  They  had  blindly  revered  the  one,  stood 
in  fear  of  the  other,  and  earned  the  contempt  of 
both.  In  the  crucible  of  the  Revolution  their 
Christian  virtues  had  availed  them  naught.     The 

117 


ARISTOKIA 

proletariat  now  owned  the  world,  and  the  aris- 
tocracy consoled  itself  with  Aristokia.  The  bour- 
geoisie had  their  virtues.  What  a  cosmic  joke,  I 
thought  I 

"Aristocracy,"  the  baron  began,  and  the  worm 
turned  to  his  keys  and  pounded,  "is  a  tradition  of 
culture  and  superior  mentality  handed  down  from 
generation  to  generation.  Like  all  living  things, 
it  is  dependent  upon  the  physical  well-being  of  its 
protagonists  in  order  to  flower  and  bear  fruit. 
The  very  existence  of  an  aristocracy  and  the  way 
of  living  which  it  imposes  on  its  members — that 
is  n't  a  good  word,"  interposed  the  baron.  "I  '11 
get  another  later — imposes  on  its  adherents — 
that 's  better — tends  to  deteriorate  the  physical 
life  of  the  caste.  It  can  be  kept  in  the  highest 
degree  living  only  by  the  discreet  infusion  from 
time  to  time  of  the  stalwart  blood  of  other  lesser 
classes.  So  long  as  these  infusions  are  absorbed 
by  the  aristocratic  blood,  the  tradition  which  is 
aristocracy  will  be  preserved. 

"With  all  due  respect  to  their  Majesties  and 
Royal  Highnesses,  the  Aristokian  Royal  Blues,  I 

118 


ARISTOKIA 

must  respectfully  point  out  that  the  inbreeding 
among  the  members  of  the  Teutonic  royal  houses 
has  now  brought  about  a  condition  which  can  be 
ameliorated  only  by  the  infusion  of — "  The 
baron  paused.  "What  are  you  doing,  Watson?" 
he  asked. 

I  had  been  writing  his  speech  in  shorthand  on 
scraps  of  paper,  and  I  had  thought  him  too  en- 
grossed to  notice  me. 

"I  was  making  a  shorthand  record  of  your  Lord- 
ship's words,"  I  replied  wondering  to  what  un- 
toward fate  I  was  drifting. 

"Why?"  he  asked. 

"Because  everything  your  Lordship  says  is 
worthy  of  preservation." 

"Really!  Do  you  think  so,  Watson?"  he  said 
in  his  most  offhand  manner,  but  I  will  bet  my 
pension  that  he  was  secretly  elated. 

"I  consider  myself  richer  by  every  word  your 
Lordship  has  uttered." 

The  worm  regarded  me  enviously.  Now,  why 
had  n't  he  thought  of  that? 

"You  're  not  spoofing,  Watson?" 
119 


ARISTOKIA 

"Spoofing  with  your  Lordship'?  Lese-maj- 
esty!" 

The  baron  contemplated  me  with  the  expression 
of  a  child  regarding  a  new  toy. 

"BoswelU"  he  exclaimed.  "Not  Watson — 
Boswelll  Boswell,  you  have  delivered  me  from 
TibbitsI"  The  worm  squirmed  uncomfortably. 
"Tibbits,  go  and  see  the  majordomo.  Draw  a 
month's  pay  in  advance  in  lieu  of  notice,  a  month's 
extra  for  bad  behavior,  and  go!  From  now  on 
Boswell  will  take  down  my  utterances.  Boswell, 
I  shall  want  you  at  my  side  always." 

"Yes,  your  Lordship." 

"We  must  never  be  parted.  Now,  where  was 
I?" 

The  baron  had  completely  dismissed  from  his 
mind  the  poor  cringing  Tibbits,  who  stood  by  the 
door  trying  to  make  a  farewell  speech,  and  suc- 
ceeded only  in  looking  pathetic. 

As  the  door  closed,  I  felt  intuitively  that  the 
worm  was  a  model  son,  that  he  supported  a 
widowed  mother  and  crippled  sister,  and  that  I 

120 


"Draw  a  month's  pay  in  advance  in  lieu  of  notice' 


ARISTOKIA 

had  been  unwittingly  guilty  of  a  dastardly  act.  I 
was  very  sad. 

"Where  was  I?"  repeated  the  baron. 

"Your  Lordship  was  saying  that  the  Teutonic 
royal  houses — " 

"Ah,  yes.  The  silly  asses  think  they  can  defy 
the  laws  of  nature." 

With  the  help  of  my  stimulus  the  baron  pre- 
pared a  paper  which  was  later  to  throw  the  grand 
session  of  the  Royal  Blues  into  a  turmoil  of  dis- 
sension, but  which  was  eventually  to  win  the  day 
for  the  baron  against  the  forces  of  reaction;  for 
in  that  strange  land,  in  so  far  as  there  were  politi- 
cal parties,  Baron  Wigleigh  was  a  liberal  and  a 
radical. 

We  worked  until  luncheon.  During  that  meal 
I  sat  close  to  the  baron,  notebook  in  hand,  and 
wrote  down  his  effusions.  The  baroness  admired 
me  covertly,  and  Gwendolyn  shot  amused  glances 
in  my  direction.  As  far  as  I  was  concerned,  I  had 
realized  heaven  on  earth. 

In  the  afternoon,  just  before  she  dressed  for 
121 


ARISTOKIA 

the  dinner  party,  Gwendolyn  and  I  were  alone  to- 
gether. She  urged,  then  begged  and  implored  me 
to  flee  before  the  social  event  of  the  evening 
brought  a  catastrophe  on  our  heads.  Among  the 
invited  guests  were  Prince  Romanoff,  Prince  Bona- 
parte, and  Prince  Juan.  She  was  convinced  that 
they  would  recognize  and  expose  me.  But  I  was 
obdurate  and,  I  am  afraid,  cruel.  I  was  in  the 
clouds,  and  I  intended  to  stay  there  until  a  thun- 
der-clap brought  me  to  earth. 


122 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  storm  of  the  night  before  had  clarified 
the  air,  and  the  evening  was  fair,  with  a 
gentle,  balmy  breeze.  The  lake  in  the  garden 
was  placid,  and  its  quiet  waters  reflected  blue  skies 
and  slow-moving,  feathery,  cirrus  clouds.  So 
much  for  nature  and  meteorology;  but  within  the 
walls  of  Wigleigh  Hall  man  in  his  psychic  en- 
velopment was  gathering  a  storm  analogous  in  its 
inevitability  and  intensity  to  the  one  nature  had 
staged  the  night  before.  The  atmosphere  was 
surcharged  with  premonitions  of  impending  dis- 
aster. Gwendolyn  and  the  chaperon  washed 
their  hands  of  me. 

The  dinner  was  to  be  a  great  affair.  Among 
those  who  were  to  attend  were  several  Royal 
Blues,  such  as  Princes  Romanoff  and  Bonaparte, 
sympathetic  to  the  baron's  ideas  of  reform.  Don 
Juan,    another   stanch   adherent   of   the   baron's 

123 


ARISTOKIA 

policy — for  Machiavellian  reasons  of  his  own — 
was  not  a  Royal  Blue;  but  by  reason  of  his  com- 
mandership  of  the  army  and  navy  and  of  his 
extraordinary  personality  he  was  a  prince  of  vast 
powers.  He  was  indeed  the  greatest  individual 
force  in  the  country,  for  the  strength  of  the  Royal 
Blues  was  collective.  These  great  persons  were 
to  gather  under  cover  of  a  social  function  to  hear 
the  baron  read  his  masterly  paper.  Bonaparte 
and  Romanoff  were  to  sponsor  it,  as  of  course 
Wigleigh  was  not  a  Royal  Blue  and  could  not 
attend  their  secret  deliberations. 

The  dining-room  was  truly  baronial.  I  got  an 
impression  of  a  vast  spaciousness,  of  which  the 
table,  arranged  for  twenty-four  covers,  occupied 
only  the  center.  There  were  stone  walls;  a  mas- 
sive timbered  ceiling  far  above;  strange  high- 
backed,  elaborately  carved  Flemish  chairs;  a  great 
Gobelin  tapestry;  and  somewhere  partly  opened 
mullioned  windows,  showing  a  glimpse  of  gardens 
in  the  twilight.  The  soft  light  was  from  silver 
sconces.     But  the  table  itself  almost  succeeded  in 

124 


ARISTOKIA 

eclipsing  all  else — a  snowy  field,  resplendent  with 
platinum  plate,  a  vision  of  fine  lace,  twinkling 
candles,  and  sparkling  crystal. 

As  I  stood,  just  before  the  arrival  of  the  guests, 
gazing  on  all  this  splendor,  my  thoughts  turned 
back  to  the  latest  capsule  automat  which  had  been 
opened  just  before  my  departure  from  New  York 
and  blatantly  proclaimed  a  triumph  of  science 
and  hygiene.  If  men  had  minds  with  which  to 
think,  here  was  a  board  at  which  great  talk  would 
flow.  But  how  could  one  be  witty,  poetic,  or 
intellectual  in  an  automat^ 

Servitors  in  powdered  wigs  and  gorgeous  livery 
rushed  about,  noiselessly  efficient. 

The  baroness,  a  little  breathless,  dripping 
jewels  like  some  cataract  in  fairyland,  wandered 
about  aimlessly.  The  majordomo  in  knee- 
breeches  and  dress-coat  had  seen  to  all  things. 

Gwendolyn  came  into  the  room  quietly.  She 
was  a  cool  radiance,  a  delectable  witchery,  a 
dazzling  simplicity. 

Before  I  had  time  to  do  more  than  exchange 
125 


ARISTOKIA 

glances  with  her  the  baron  entered,  looking  about 
vaguely  as  if  for  something  he  had  lost.  He  saw 
me. 

*'Ah,  Boswell,  you  are  what  I  was  looking  for  I 
Stand  near  me  to-night.  Have  you  a  large  note- 
book?" 

"Yes,  your  Lordship." 

"I  shall  be  in  fine  fettle  this  evening." 

I  followed  him  into  an  anteroom  off  the  main 
ball-room,  a  sort  of  small  reception-room  where 
the  guests  would  be  greeted.  As  the  first  of  these 
arrived,  Gwendolyn  gave  me  a  little  look  of 
mingled  compassion  for  my  foolhardiness,  hope 
for  our  escape,  and  just  friendly  good  wishes.  It 
was  the  sort  of  look  one  gives  to  a  friend  who  is 
about  to  try  for  the  altitude  record  of  the  world 
in  a  new  type  of  airplane. 

The  first-comers  were  Lord  and  Lady  Wonalan- 
sett,  descended  from  Americans;  the  Duke  and 
Duchess  of  Biltmore,  also  Americans;  Count 
Tirado,  a  Spaniard;  and  the  Chevalier  Van  Ruys- 
dal,  a  Dutchman. 

The  baron  explained  my  presence  airily :  "Bos- 
126 


ARISTOKIA 

well — what  his  name  connotes.  You  may  treat 
him  as  you  would  a  chaperon.  If  you  happen  to 
say  anything  which  he  considers  worthy  of  associa- 
tion with  the  other  remarks  recorded,  he  may  give 
you  immortality.  The  general  use  of  Boswells 
would  tend  to  restore  the  lost  art  of  conversa- 
tion to  its  proper  place  in  social  intercourse.  Bos- 
well  is  an  incentive  to  say  something  worth  while, 
or,  if  unable,  to  respect  the  silence." 

I  was  scribbling  rapidly.  Several  of  the  guests 
had  started  perceptibly  at  the  suggestion  that  what 
they  would  say  might  be  recorded.  I  think  it  put 
them  instinctively  on  their  guard,  for,  as  the 
baron  had  intimated,  my  presence  raised  the  gen- 
eral tone  of  the  conversation.  Banalities  were 
fewer;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  a  painful  straining 
to  be  epigrammatic  obliged  me  to  sift  the  spon- 
taneous from  the  labored. 

I  was  enjoying  myself  hugely,  and  troubles 
seemed  far  down  on  my  horizon  when  the  guests 
of  honor  of  the  night  arrived  almost  simultane- 
ously. 

"His  Royal  Highness  Prince  Nicholas  Roman- 
127 


ARISTOKIA 

off,  R.B.  His  Royal  Highness  Prince  Louis 
Napoleon  Bonaparte,  R.B.  His  Royal  Highness 
Prince  Juan  do  Braganza,  Commander-in-Chief 
of  the  Imperial  Aristokian  Military,  Naval  and 
Aerial  Forces,"  announced  the  flunky  at  the  door, 
and  in  swept  the  triumvirate  of  my  doom. 

They  paid  their  respects  with  courtly  homage, 
first  to  the  baroness,  and  then  to  Gwendolyn,  with 
whom  each  one  lingered  to  make  some  pretty 
speech;  for  all  three  were  suitors  for  her  hand. 
Romanoff  was  the  first  to  greet  the  baron. 

"My  dear  George,"  he  began,  and  then  caught 
sight  of  me  and  stopped  dead.  I  heard  him 
ejaculate  something  which  sounded  to  my  un- 
tutored ear  like  "Rumpy-biub-dubsky."  I  sup- 
pose it  was  Russian  for  "Great  Father  I  Look 
who  's  here  I"     I  never  even  blinked. 

"Boswell,"  explained  the  baron,  "invisible,  like 
a  chaperon,  recorder  of  great  words — " 

Romanoff  interrupted  him:  "Where  did  you 
find  him,  George?" 

"Dropped  on  me  like  manna.  A  gift  from  the 
gods,"  said  my  master. 

128 


ARISTOKIA 

"I  thought  so."  The  Russian  looked  at  me 
fiercely.  "We  will  talk  about  him  later."  He 
moved  away. 

Napoleon  was  next.  He  greeted  the  baron 
effusively,  and  did  not  notice  me  for  some  time. 
When  he  did,  he  seized  the  baron's  arm  wildly, 
crying : 

"Mon  Dieu!  Look — behind  you,  George  I 
There  it  is  again  I"  He  pointed  at  me.  He 
shook  his  finger  at  me,  and  I  am  sure  made  me  look 
cross-eyed. 

"Bos well — "  The  baron  began  his  explana- 
tion. 

"No,  no!  He  is  a  lu-na-Z^r.'"  the  Frenchman 
insisted,  with  a  peculiarly  unpleasant  emphasis  on 
the  "tic."  He  moved  away,  gesticulating  freely. 
"Nichola-s-s  I  Nichola-s-s!"  And  then  some- 
thing which  sounded  like  "Ah  tew  view  ler  foo," 
which  I  knew  must  be  something  uncomplimentary 
about  me. 

Don  Juan  stepped  up  now.  His  keen  eyes  had 
noticed  what  had  gone  before,  and  while  he  spoke 

129 


ARISTOKIA 

to  the  baron,  he  looked  at  me.  I  pretended  not 
to  see  him. 

"My  dear  Baron,  I  should  like  to  speak  to  you 
alone  if  that  is  possible,"  said  Juan. 

The  baron  nodded  his  willingness  to  be  talked 
to  and  led  the  way  to  an  adjoining  smoking-  and 
lounge-room.  Don  Juan  followed.  In  the  door- 
way the  baron  turned  and,  seeing  that  I  had  re- 
mained standing,  called  me.     I  went  to  him. 

"I  said  'alone^'  my  dear  Baron,"  insisted  Juan, 
politely  deliberate. 

"Must  have  Boswell.  You  can  say  anything 
in  front  of  Boswell.  He  records  only  remarks 
that  are  above  par." 

Don  Juan  shrugged  helplessly.  He  was  used 
to  the  baron's  eccentricities. 

Romanoff  and  Bonaparte  were  already  in  the 
smoking-room,  talking  volubly  in  French,  They 
both  said,  "Ah  I"  in  a  disagreeable  now-we  've-got- 
you  sort  of  way  as  I  entered. 

All  three  began  talking  at  once,  trying  to  con- 
vince the  baron  that  I  was  not  what  I  seemed. 

The  baron  became  more  languorously  bored 
130 


ARISTOKIA 

than  I  had  ever  dreamed  a  human  being  could  be. 
He  inspired  me  with  an  awful  calm.  This  was 
too  wonderful  an  adventure.  Why  worry  about 
the  outcome?  I  regarded  my  accusers  with  un- 
flinching countenance  and  impassive  gaze. 

The  three  dashed  their  impassioned  diatribes 
against  the  implacable  wall  of  the  baron's  ennui. 
I  was  Boswell,  Watson-Boswell  or  Boswell-Wat- 
son;  therefore  I  could  not  be  anything  else. 

Dinner  was  announced,  putting  an  end  to  the 
skirmish.  The  three  great  ones  went  off  in  search 
of  their  dinner  partners,  and  the  baron  turned 
to  me. 

"Most  men  have  no  imagination,"  he  remarked. 
"They  are  slaves  to  fatuous  things  they  call 
facts." 

I  wondered  if  he  really  remembered  me,  and 
was  just  pretending  not  to  because  it  suited  his 
purpose. 

Dinner  was  a  lengthy  affair  of  many  courses. 
I  had  to  stand  on  the  baron's  right,  a  little  behind 
his  chair,  so  as  not  to  interfere  with  the  service. 
I  wrote  incessantly,  for  the  baron  was  at  his  best, 

131 


ARISTOKIA 

making  extraordinary  quips  about  anything  and 
everything  that  struck  his  fancy.  Before  the  meal 
was  over  I  was  ravenously  hungry'.  Fortunately, 
I  had  taken  a  capsule  before  the  dinner  began; 
otherwise  the  combined  assault  of  many  choice 
viands  on  my  senses  of  sight  and  smell  would 
have  been  too  much  for  me. 

As  the  ladies  got  up  to  leave  the  dining-room 
the  men  arose,  and  the  baron  whispered  to  me : 

"Go  and  get  something  to  eat,  Boswell.  Every 
one  is  too  gorged  to  think  decently  now.  With 
the  ladies  absent,  vulgar  stories  will  be  told.  / 
shall  remain  silent  until  you  return." 

In  the  pantry  I  found  great  difficulty  in  getting 
food.  The  servitors  regarded  me  as  an  interloper 
in  their  domain,  and  there  were  frequent  murmurs 
of  "Where  's  yer  card*?  What  local  do  yer  be- 
long to*?" 

I  explained  to  the  majordomo,  who  asked  to  see 
my  union  card,  that  I  was  a  union  all  to  myself; 
that  I  was  not  in  any  ordinary  sense  of  the  word 
a  servitor.  I  was  a  Boswell,  the  only  Boswell  in 
the  world.     I  was  n't  taking  any  man's  job.     In 

132 


1   wrote  incessantly,   fur   the   baron   was  at  his  best 


ARISTOKIA 

fact,  I  should  be  glad  to  teach  Boswelling  to  any 
one  who  desired  instruction  in  this  form  of  service. 
This  seemed  to  impress  the  majordomo,  and  he  de- 
cided to  feed  me  and  tolerate  me  until  he  could 
communicate  with,  and  get  advice  from,  the  union 
secretary  in  Saal. 

I  attribute  my  temporary  success  with  the  ma- 
jordomo almost  entirely  to  the  fact  that  I  had 
unconsciously  absorbed  something  of  the  baron's 
unanswerable  manner. 

While  I  ate  my  meal  I  became  very  much  en- 
grossed in  conversation  with  a  large  Cossack  who 
explained  that  he  was  a  chemist — being  something 
of  a  chemist  myself,  I  felt  an  added  interest — 
and  that  it  was  his  duty  to  examine  and  in  some 
cases  analyze  every  particle  of  food  eaten  by 
Prince  Romanoff,  as  that  worthy  suffered  from 
the  obsession  that  he  would  some  day  be  poisoned. 
What  a  retribution  for  the  centuries  of  Romanoff 
misgovernment  in  Russia  I 

"Of  course,"  the  Cossack  concluded,  "I  don't 
really  inspect  his  food.  He  just  thinks  I  do.  No 
one  would  bother  to  poison  him!'* 

133 


ARISTOKIA 

Soon  after  I  returned  to  the  baron's  side  the 
three  princes  accompanied  him  to  his  study,  os- 
tensibly and  eventually  to  hear  his  paper,  but 
first  of  all  to  dispose  of  my  case. 

The  battle  was  resumed  at  the  point  at  which 
it  had  been  broken  off  by  dinner.  Napoleon  took 
the  field. 

"But,  my  dear,  dear  George,"  he  said,  "no  one 
enjoys  your  t^i-lents  more  than  I.  But  r- really, 
par  bleu!  Jus'  becose  this  felow  like  your  bons 
mots,  it  is  no  reason  why  he  is  not  insane." 

The  baron  smiled  at  him  benignly. 

"What  is  insanity*?"  he  asked. 

This  simple  question  threw  the  noble  company 
into  an  uproar.  All  repeated  it  and  then  became 
incoherent. 

"It  can  best  be  defined,"  resumed  the  baron, 
answering  his  own  question  as  usual,  "as  a  di- 
vergence in  opinion  from  the  majority  opinion  of 
your  fellows.  And  in  that  sense  every  one  is  a 
little  insane.  But  how  can  you  justly  label  one 
person  as  insane  when  all  are  insane  in  varying 


degree?" 


134 


ARISTOKIA 

"Granted  I  granted  I"  shouted  Napoleon;  "but 
there  is  a  poin'  where  legal  insanity  he  begin,  an' 
dam-i-tall  I  You  know  his  own  f rien'  say  he  is 
crazee.     That  is  enough  for  me." 

There  was  a  terrible  pause.  Napoleon  struck 
an  attitude.     The  baron  cogitated. 

"Well,  for  the  sake  of  argument  let  us  admit 
that  Boswell  is  insane.  But  we  should  n't  cast 
him  out  for  that.  You,  my  dear  Juan,  are  sar- 
torially  unbalanced." 

"If  any  one  else  said  such  a  thing,  my  dear 
Baron,  I  would  challenge  him  I"  Juan  flashed 
dramatically. 

"I  know  you  would.  That  only  proves  my 
point.  Now  you,  Nicholas,  you  think  your  food 
is  poisoned — " 

Nicholas  looked  at  the  baron  and  roared: 
"It  is.  One  hundred  times  Dimitrieff  has  saved 
my  life." 

"All  I  can  say  is  that  I  should  not  be  happy 
while  under  such  a  load  of  obligation  to  any  man. 
Now  you.  Napoleon,"  he  continued,  smiling, 
"surely  you  have  some  little  faihlesseV 

135 


ARISTOKIA 

Romanoff,  who  had  been  charging  about  like  a 
bull,  halted  in  front  of  the  baron. 

"This  person  is  an  anarchist.  He  wants  a 
statue  erected  to  TrotzkyI     Trolzky/" 

"And  why  not  a  statute  to  Trotzky,  my  dear 
Nicholas^  After  all,  he  made  all  this  beauty 
and  comfort  possible  for  us.  Here  we  have  no 
proletariat,  no  socialists,  no  anarchists,  no  trou- 
bles, no  worries.  Here  there  is  no  one  to  poison 
our  food,  Nicholas." 

The  Russian  lapsed  into  his  native  tongue. 

Don  Juan  came  forward. 

"All  this  is  beside  the  point.  This  man  acted 
very  strangely  at  the  casino;  but  he  is  not  insane. 
He  has  some  ulterior  motive,  and  I  for  one  have 
suspicions  which,  should  they  prove  well  founded 
— in  fact,  I  would — "  he  clenched  his  fists,  and 
then  he  lapsed  into  his  native  tongue. 

I  was  rather  relieved  when  Napoleon  inter- 
vened. Juan's  flow  of  Portuguese  was  murder- 
ous, and  he  looked  at  me  in  a  way  that  made  me 
fear  his  suspicions.     He  was  Gwendolyn's  most 

136 


ARISTOKIA 

ardent  suitor,  the  most  dangerous  of  the  three. 
He  made  me  uncomfortable. 

Napoleon  thought  to  clench  the  matter:  "Sane 
or  insane,  this  person  we  saw  at  the  casino.  He  is 
a  toureest,  a  Nobodee,  a  John  Smit',  not  a  propair 
servitor." 

This  line  of  argument  was  getting  perilously 
near  to  a  union  card.  Would  one  of  them  think 
to  ask  me  if  I  had  one,  I  wondered.  I  must  not 
think  of  it  myself  or  I  might  suggest  it  to  them. 

But  as  usual  the  baron  changed  the  entire  course 
of  the  dialogue. 

'T  saw  many  people,  many  Smiths  at  the  casino. 
I  don't  remember  any  of  them.  If  you  chaps 
were  true  to  your  caste,  you  would  n't  remember 
them  either.  Boswell  is  Boswell,  and  there  you 
are." 

"But,  George,  we  do  this  for  your  sake.  We 
cannot  all  be  wrong  an'  you  right,"  argued  Bona- 
parte. 

"That  the  minority  is  always  right  is  the  funda-1 
mental  fact  of  your  existence." 

137 


ARISTOKIA 

"W'a-atI"  exclaimed  Louis  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte, stepping  into  the  trap  the  baron's  nimble  wit 
had  set  for  him. 

"You  are  an  aristocrat.  Aristocrats  are  a  mi- 
nority," said  the  baron. 

Napoleon  threw  up  his  hands  wildly,  and  then 
he,  too,  lapsed  into  his  native  tongue. 

After  a  little  temporary  confusion  of  a  babel- 
like nature,  Don  Juan  remarshaled  his  forces. 
He  made  a  frontal  attack.     He  came  to  me. 

"Do  you  deny  that  you  played  at  a  table  at 
the  casino  on  the  night  of —  What  night  was 
it?"  he  asked  Romanoff,  impatiently. 

The  Russian  asked  the  Frenchman.  None  of 
them  remembered  the  date. 

"It  does  not  matter," — Juan  was  determined 
not  to  be  put  off  by  trifles, — "do  you  deny  playing 
at  a  table  at  which  were  Lady  Gwendolyn,  the 
baron,  and  I?  Do  you  deny  dropping  a  note  at 
Lady  Gwendolyn's  feet?" 

I  quaked  a  bit,  inwardly.  He  was  on  the  right 
track. 

Romanoff  joined  the  inquisition:     "Did  you 

138 


ARISTOKIA 

not  say  something  in  that  note  about  a  statue  to 
that  infamous  Trotzky,  murderer  of  my  beloved 
ancestors?" 

They  crowded  around  me. 

"An'  do  you  deny,"  chipped  in  Napoleon,  "that 
I  pick'  up  the  note  an'  read  him,  an'  that  your 
frien'  was  arrest"?" 

I  am  by  nature  truthful;  besides,  of  what  use 
to  deny  these  charges'?  They  knew  that  I  was 
the  same  man  they  had  seen  at  the  casino,  and 
nothing  I  could  say  would  alter  their  conviction. 

So  I  replied :  "Your  Royal  Highnesses,  I  deny 
nothing." 

A  mighty  chorus  of  "Ahs"  greeted  this  state- 
ment. All  three  turned  on  the  baron  gloatingly. 
It  was  a  serious  tactical  error. 

The  baron  merely  secured  his  monocle  more 
tightly  in  his  eye  and  said  casually : 

"I  knew  all  the  time  that  he  was  the  same  man." 

The  holy  alliance  erupted  incoherent  expletives 
again.  When  it  had  calmed  down  sufficiently 
to  become  articulate,  under  the  leadership  of  Juan 
the  princes  decided  that  inasmuch  as  I  was  a  No- 

139 


ARISTOKIA 

body,  a  Smith,  and  the  baron  had  spoken  with 
me,  they  had  him  in  their  power,  and  that  unless 
he  consented  to  dismiss  me  he  would  be  exposed. 
It  was  their  duty. 

"Well,"  remarked  the  baron,  "we  shall  have 
company  in  exile.  You  have  spoken  to  him, 
Juan,  and  so  have  you.  Napoleon,  and  you  too, 
Nicholas;  and  so  have  my  daughter  and  my  wife 
and  several  of  my  other  guests.  We  shall  be  a 
merry  company  indeed." 

Don  Juan  smiled  ingratiatingly.  "We  capit- 
ulate, my  dear  Baron.  Send  it  away,  and  we  will 
not  report  the  incident." 

The  baron  smiled,  too.  "Your  capitulation  is 
premature,  Juan.  It  will  come  in  a  moment. 
You  let  me  keep  my  Boswell,  and  /  won't  report 
you  I'''' 

"All  right;  but  I  for  one  shall  keep  an  eye  on 
him,"  said  Juan,  with  an  evil  look  at  me. 

"He  will  end  by  poisoning  you,"  said  Romanoff. 

"The  incident  it  is  close'  for  the  presen'.  You 
'ave  wan  your  poin'  temporarily,  but — "  Napo- 

140 


ARISTOKIA 

leon  hit  the  conjunction  with  premonitory  empha- 
sis. 

"But,  my  dear  Napoleon,  like  your  illustrious 
ancestor,  you  are  never  satisfied.  You  will  end 
in  St.  Helena  because  you  would  not  stay  in  Elba." 

With  the  above  historic  remark  the  baron  closed 
the  subject  and  drew  forth  his  paper,  which  he 
read  to  the  great  men  with  gusto.  It  was  much 
applauded,  and  the  three  highnesses  left  in  better 
humor  than  they  had  been  during  most  of  the 
evening.  Napoleon  and  Romanoff  seemed  mol- 
lified and  were  willing  to  admit  that  I  was  a  use- 
ful adjunct  to  a  great  man,  but  Juan  was  mistrust- 
ful to  the  end. 

When  they  had  gone,  I  spoke  to  the  baron: 
"Your  Lordship,  your  trust  in  me  has  been  so  im- 
plicit that  I  feel  I  should  tell  your  Lordship  who 
I  am." 

"You  are  Boswell,  my  dear  fellow,  Boswell. 
It  would  be  such  a  bore  if  you  turned  out  some  one 
else." 

I  was  looking  forward  to  an  endless  existence  as 
141 


ARISTOKIA 

Boswell, — well  fed,  well  housed,  amused,  inter- 
ested, and  always  near  to  Gwendolyn, — when 
there  came  a  rather  loud  knock  at  the  door  that 
sent  all  my  plans  glimmering. 

The  door  opened  to  the  baron's  "Come  in," 
and  three  men  entered,  the  majordomo,  Ambrose 
Tibbits,  and  a  third  person,  whose  identity  did  not 
long  remain  obscure.  He  was  secretary  of  the 
Aristokian  Servitors'  Union,  and  his  name  was 
Michael  Fogarty.  He  announced  these  impress- 
ive facts  himself  in  a  loud,  unpleasant  voice,  after 
the  majordomo  had  made  a  roundabout  start  at 
an  introduction. 

The  baron  said,  "Really,"  in  his  best  manner. 
Tibbits  remained  huddled  near  the  door,  looking 
abject  and  miserable. 

I  felt  that  this  was  going  to  be  my  Marne. 
Where  the  triumvirate  of  aristocracy  had  failed, 
the  triumvirate  of  the  proletariat  would  succeed. 

The  majordomo  told  the  baron  very  politely  but 
unequivocally  that  I  had  no  union  card  and  there- 
fore could  not  be  his  Boswell ;  that  the  explanation 
which  I  had  made  to  him  was  invalid  because  I  had 

142 


ARISTOKIA 

in  effect  deprived  Mr.   Tibbits  of  his  position. 

The  baron  scowled  at  Tibbits. 

"Tibbits  is  an  ass,  a  narcotic.  Boswell  is  a 
genius,  a  stimulant." 

"If  yez  abuse  Mr.  Tibbits,"  shouted  the  Irish- 
man, "I  '11  report  yez  to  the  International." 

"Then  I  '11  abuse  you  instead,"  retorted  the 
baron.  "I  don't  like  your  voice,  I  don't  like  your 
accent,  I  don't  like  your  manners,  I  don't  like  your 
nationality." 

"You  say  anything  ag'in'  the  Irish — "  thun- 
dered Fogarty. 

"If  you  resent  it,"  quickly  interposed  the  baron, 
"I  '11  report  you  to  the  International.  You  are 
a  citizen  of  the  world,  and  as  such  are  not  con- 
cerned with  nationality." 

The  secretary  of  the  union  mumbled  something 
under  his  breath  which  sounded  to  me  like  "Oh, 
go  to  hell !" 

Then  Tibbits  came  forward  and  whimpered 
that  none  of  this  was  of  his  doing.  He  had  not 
complained,  he  could  never  complain.  The  baron 
had  been  more  than  kind  to  him;  he  had  only 

143 


ARISTOKIA 

happened  to  mention  to  the  majordomo  and  the 
other  servitors  the  cause  of  his  dismissal,  and  then 
they  had  taken  things  into  their  own  hands. 

"I  did  n't  want  to  come  here  and  bother  your 
Lordship.     They  made  me,"  he  whined  piteously. 

Mr.  Michael  Fogarty  gave  him  a  shove  that 
sent  him  reeling,  and  bellowed: 

"You  make  me  sick  I"  He  turned  to  the  baron, 
pointing  at  me.  "This  feller  's  got  to  go,  that 's 
all.  If  Tibbits  is  rotten,  and  I  think  he  is,  we  '11 
send  yez  around  anither  secretary." 

The  baron  smiled  at  me. 

"My  dear  Boswell,  there  is  no  bigger  fool  than 
the  man  who  cannot  admit  defeat.  I  am  a  baron 
and  an  Aristokian  because  Mr.  Michael  Fogarty  is 
afraid  to  let  me  at  large  in  the  world.  It  seems 
I  cannot  have  Boswell.  Well,  so  be  it."  He 
waved  his  hand  wearily.  "Send  me  another 
amanuensis." 

"Give  me  another  chance,"  pleaded  Tibbits. 

The  baron  looked  at  him. 

"Give  him  another  chance,  your  Lordship,"  I 
said. 

144 


Mr.  Michael  Fogarty  gave  him  a  shove  that  sent  him  reeH 


ng 


ARISTOKIA 

"All  right,  Boswell;  for  your  sake  I  will." 

Tibbits  became  effusive,  the  baron  bored. 
The  majordomo  and  Mr.  Fogarty  dragged  the 
driveling  Tibbits  from  the  room. 

I  looked  at  the  baron.  He  looked  at  me.  We 
both  smiled. 

"Good-by,  your  Lordship,"  I  said. 

"Good-by,  Boswell." 

He  held  out  his  hand  and  gave  mine  a  short, 
crisp  shake.     I  turned  and  left  him. 

I  was  unable  to  see  Gwendolyn  that  night,  but 
several  days  later  we  met  in  the  garden. 

The  difficulties  that  beset  our  meetings  were 
greatly  augmented  now  that  I  was  known  by 
sight  to  every  one  about  the  house.  We  were 
together  only  a  couple  of  times  more,  and  then 
came  the  end. 

It  was  the  last  night  of  the  open  season,  and 
by  midnight  all  the  tourists  must  be  out  of  Aris- 
tokia.     We  met  at  moonrise,  as  on  the  first  night. 

What  shall  I  say  of  that  never-to-be-forgotten 
last  hour  of  hours  in  the  garden"?  What  words 
can  I  find  to  express  its  beauty  and  romanced 

145 


ARISTOKIA 

The  old,  trite  phrases,  nearly  meaningless  from 
endless  repetition,  seem  inadequate. 

Love  primordial  divests  us  of  our  reason  and 
philosophy  and  leaves  us  naked  before  God. 
The  words  we  scoff  at  on  other's  lips  and  in  our 
sober  moments  become  for  us  miraculously  differ- 
ent and  dressed  in  new  raiment.  Pregnant  with 
hitherto  unimagined  significance,  they  tumble 
from  our  lips,  impelled  by  that  mysterious  force 
that  makes  all  the  ages  of  man's  time  live  anew 
for  every  one  of  us  in  that  all  too  fleeting  moment. 

And  so  it  was  that  the  finality  of  the  coming 
separation  stalked  us  as  we  walked,  and  stood 
sentinel  to  our  thoughts  when  we  sat  down  to 
talk.  Its  shadow  was  all  about  us,  and  the  flood- 
gates of  our  emotions  burst  at  last.  We  were 
lovers,  using  the  words  that  lovers  have  used  from 
the  beginning  of  time  and  doing  the  things  that 
all  lovers  do. 

Gwendolyn  wept  at  parting,  and  I  heard  the 
chaperon  sniffle  too.  Suddenly  there  were  foot- 
steps down  the  path.  I  hid  in  a  bush.  It  was 
the  baron. 

146 


ARISTOKIA 

"What  are  you  doing  in  this  beastly  damp  gar- 
den at  this  time  of  the  night?"  he  asked  in  his 
tired  way. 

"Looking  at  the  moon,  Papa,"  replied  Gwen- 
dolyn. 

"The  moon'?  What's  the  matter  with  the 
bally  thing?"  he  asked,  adjusting  his  monocle  to 
stare  at  it. 

"It 's  going  into  an  eclipse,"  half  sobbed  Gwen- 
dolyn. 

"How  silly!"  remarked  the  baron  as  he  took 
her  arm  and  led  her  up  toward  the  house. 

I  crouched  in  the  foliage.  My  mind  was  tor- 
pid, a  murky  haunt  for  feelings  without  thoughts. 
The  crunching  of  their  departing  footsteps  up  the 
gravel  walk  was  mere  sound  without  significance. 

A  few  moments  later  the  chaperon  returned  and 
let  me  out.  I  grasped  her  hands  in  both  of  mine 
and  wrung  them  fervently.  I  could  find  no  words 
to  say  to  her.  I  heard  her  murmur,  "Ach  GottT' 
Then  the  little  iron  gate  closed  behind  me,  and  I 
stepped  from  a  land  of  dreams  to  a  world  of  real- 
ities. 

147 


CHAPTER  VIII 

I  RETURNED  to  the  Hohcnzollern  and 
packed  hurriedly,  assisted  by  my  valet,  to 
whom  I  had  become  accustomed.  I  paid  my  mon- 
umental bill,  tipped  the  army  of  servitors  who  ap- 
peared suddenly  from  all  directions  to  offer  me 
unnecessary  attentions,  and  departed. 

When  I  crossed  the  frontier  it  was  just  mid- 
night. Had  I  been  a  second  later  I  should  have 
been  liable  to  arrest.  I  was  the  last  tourist  to 
leave  Aristokia.  No  one  else  was  taking  such 
chances. 

I  was  in  Saal,  the  little  German  town  where  a 
goodly  proportion  of  the  servitors  and  workers 
of  Aristokia  lived.  After  leaving  the  bulk  of  my 
luggage  at  the  railway  station,  and  having  been 
recommended  a  certain  inn  by  the  ticket  agent,  I 
wandered  about  the  quiet,  moonlit  streets  between 
rows  of  pretty  little  detached  houses,  each  with  its 
well-kept  lawns  and  garden.     At  the  outskirts  of 

148 


ARISTOKIA 

the  town  I  came  to  the  quaint  old  tavern,  a  ram- 
shackle, sprawling  low  building  which  had  been 
built  years  before  the  rise  of  Prussia  and  the  mad, 
wild  bid  of  Germany  for  world  dominion. 

I  was  shown  to  my  room  by  a  buxom,  blonde 
German  woman.  As  she  left  me  she  remarked 
that  the  tavern  had  been  used  as  general  head- 
quarters during  the  Great  War,  and  that  Hinden- 
burg  had  slept  in  the  very  bed  in  which  I  was  about 
to  spend  the  night. 

I  lay  for  several  sleepless  hours  in  Hindenburg's 
bed,  staring  up  at  the  ceiling,  my  mind  and  heart 
filled  with  the  cross-currents  of  many  thoughts  and 
emotions.  Somewhere  within  me  was  a  dull  ache 
that  would  not  be  appeased. 

Why  had  I  not  urged  Gwendolyn  to  come  away 
with  me?  Perhaps  I  should  have  done  so  if  the 
baron  had  not  appeared  so  suddenly  and  put  such 
an  abrupt  ending  to  our  love-making.  And  yet,  I 
thought,  what  had  I  in  my  proletarian  world  to 
offer  her  comparable  to  the  glories  of  Aristokia? 

To  what  a  pass  our  world  had  come  I  How 
fatuously  men  had  hailed  the  revolution  as  the 

149 


ARISTOKIA 

coming  of  the  millennium  I  Would  it  not  all  have 
to  be  undone  and  rebuilded  in  a  better  way  some 
day?  We  had  overthrown  the  tyranny  of  kings, 
militarists,  and  capitalists,  and  enthroned  instead 
not  humanity  but  a  caste,  a  class  of  narrow  selfish 
workers  who  glorified  work  when  truly  leisure  and 
not  labor  should  be  the  ultimate  goal  of  mankind. 
For  without  leisure  there  could  be  no  time  to 
dream,  and  without  dreams  there  could  be  no  art 
and  no  unfolding  of  the  human  spirit. 

The  great  organized  groups  of  workers  had 
seized  the  machinery  of  government  and  driven  the 
elect  of  past  ages  to  the  refuge  of  Aristokia.  But 
with  the  drones,  the  parasites,  and  the  snobs  they 
had  driven  the  dreamers,  the  thinkers,  the  great 
ones  whose  minds  were  stagnating  in  luxury  and 
whose  abilities  were  becoming  atrophied  in  an 
ambient  which  gave  them  no  opportunity  for 
natural  expression  through  conflict  and  struggle. 

Already  everywhere,  particularly  in  my  own 
America,  where  the  change  had  been  most  mo- 
mentous, a  new  unrest  was  apparent,  and  a  new 
lower  class  was  becoming  restive  under  the  tyr- 

150 


ARISTOKIA 

anny  of  a  utilitarian  and  dully  monotonous 
regime.  The  wheels  of  vast  machines  were 
whirling,  and  a  stupendous  materialism,  with 
unesthetic  commonplaceness,  was  god.  Some- 
how, through  the  terrible  hatred  of  classes,  that 
spiritual  renaissance  everywhere  discernible  in  the 
writings  of  those  who  had  lived  during  the  Great 
War  had  been  overwhelmed  and  lost  to  us. 

Dreamy,  moody  Slavdom  had  pointed  the  way, 
but  Russia  had  been  conquered  by  Germany,  and 
Anglo-Saxon  trade-unionism  had  remolded  the 
world  in  her  own  image.  The  faddists,  the  fan- 
atics, the  coiners  of  catch-phrases  were  having 
their  little  day.  The  world  had  beaten  German 
militarism  only  to  be  conquered  by  German  ma-  I 
terialism  and  a  German  brand  of  socialism. 

Hindenburg's  bed  creaked  as  I  turned  about 
and  stretched  restlessly. 

Germans,  I  thought,  strange  race  that  had  in 
successive  waves  since  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Em- 
pire poured  its  prolific  blood  over  the  fields  of 
Europe,  only  at  last  to  be  destroyed  by  the  Roman 
idea. 

151 


ARISTOKIA 

If  only  the  great  minds  of  England  and  Amer- 
ica had  been  heard  above  the  din  of  battle  I  If 
only  those  who  held  the  power  of  the  world  in 
their  hands  had  been  a  little  less  blind!  Why 
had  they  not  seen  the  inevitable  as  it  thundered 
toward  them  with  the  roar  of  a  cosmic  tidal  wave? 
Among  the  capitalistic  governing  class  in  England 
and  America  there  must  have  been  men  of  imagin- 
ation and  understanding,  men  capable  of  re- 
organizing the  world  with  their  superior  intelli- 
gence so  that  all  would  contribute  to  the  toil  of 
mankind  and  all  would  have  time  to  dream,  to 
look  at  the  stars  and  bask  in  the  sunlight.  But 
they  had  been  myopic  and  egotistical.  They  had 
thought  only  of  keeping  what  was  theirs  to  them- 
selves. The  blatant  idealists  had  blown  their  tin 
horns.  The  tidal  wave  had  engulfed  them  all, 
and  the  class  with  the  machinery  of  organization 
had  emerged  triumphant  from  the  flood  and  en- 
throned its  ideals  or,  rather,  its  lack  of  them. 

The  baron's  ancestors,  for  instance,  what  had 
they  done?  Now  he  looked  at  the  moon  and 
called  it  silly ! 

152 


ARISTOKIA 

Oh,  cool,  moonlit  garden  I  Wonderful  red- 
golden  hair  I  Gwendolyn!  Capsules  I  Cap- 
sules I  How  quickly  they  multiplied  and  grew 
to  prodigious  sizes,  and  tumbled  and  rolled  as 
I  struggled  about,  trying  to  reach  brown  eyes  I 
Then  glass  crashed  and  the  baron  stared  at  me 
through  a  monocle  as  large  as  the  moon.  Hin- 
denburg's  bed  creaked,  and  I  slipped  into  uncon- 
sciousness. 

At  least  I  thought  I  did.  But  presently  I 
seemed  to  be  awake  again.  Hindenburg  was  ly- 
ing in  bed  beside  me,  muttering  to  himself  in 
German.  He  was  damning  the  Allies  tor  never 
knowing  when  they  were  beaten.  He  called  me 
Wilhelm  and  kept  repeating,  "Your  son  is  an  ass. 
Sire."  I  agreed  with  him.  He  explained  to  me 
that  the  war  would  be  won  in  the  East,  and  by 
way  of  emphasis  threw  a  heavy  booted  leg  over 
me.     His  spurs  dug  into  me. 

What  a  stupid  way  to  go  to  bed!  I  thought. 
Still,  he  was  a  great  general,  the  savior  of  the 
fatherland.  One  must  overlook  these  little  eccen- 
tricities of  genius. 

153 


ARISTOKIA 

Then  there  was  a  frightful  commotion,  the 
whirring  of  an  air  motor,  quiet,  then  more  noise, 
voices,  and  a  terrible  banging. 

"I  told  you  those  silly  Zeppehn  raids  would 
lead  to  reprisals,"  said  Hindenburg.  "They  're 
bombing  us,  Sire.     Jump  I" 

I  jumped. 


154 


CHAPTER  IX 

1  FOUND  myself  sitting  up,  tense  and  taut, 
on  the  edge  of  the  bed.  The  door  had  been 
opened,  and  the  lights  were  burning.  Before  me 
stood  the  buxom  German  woman  and  a  man.  I 
gave  a  sidelong  glance  at  the  bed.  Hindenburg 
had  disappeared. 

The  woman  apologized  for  startling  me,  and 
explained  that  the  gentleman,  Herr  Schmidt,  had 
just  arrived  in  his  airplane,  that  his  pilot  had 
been  taken  ill  and  was  unconscious.  Would  I 
assist  to  carry  him  into  the  house *?  Certainly; 
I  would  put  on  some  clothes. 

I  stared  at  Herr  Schmidt,  who  was  dressed  in 
a  tight-fitting  suit  of  tweed  and  a  leather  coat. 
That  receding  face  with  its  protruding  nose  and 
scrubby  blond  mustache,  where  had  I  seen  it  be- 
fore? The  crown-prince?  He  had  been  dead 
years.  I  had  been  dreaming.  Then  I  knew. 
With  a  sudden  rush  I  became  fully  awake.     It 


ARISTOKIA 

was  Willy  Hohenzollern.  What  was  he  doing 
out  of  Aristokia,  masquerading  as  Herr  Schmidt, 
I  wondered. 

Willy  spoke  to  me  in  English.  He  was  very 
sorry  to  trouble  me,  but  Frieda's  man  (Frieda  was 
evidently  the  German  woman)  was  away  in  town. 
Willy  could  n't  lift  the  pilot  alone.  He  was  a 
wee  bit  drunk  and  wabbly,  and  the  pilot  was  very 
big  and  heavy.  W^illy  had  a  very  polite  little 
jag,  and  I  took  an  instantaneous  fancy  to  him. 

We  carried  the  big  fellow  in ;  that  is,  I  carried, 
and  Willy  assisted.  Almost  immediately  the 
doctor  arrived. 

It  was  altitude  sickness,  the  doctor  explained. 
The  man's  heart  was  affected. 

"Were  you  flying  very  high,  Herr  Schmidt?'* 

Willy  sobered  up  and  looked  very  remorseful 
when  he  answered:     "Yes,  rather." 

The  doctor  assured  him  that  the  man  would 
live  and  would  be  all  right  after  a  complete  rest  of 
several  weeks.     That  relieved  Herr  Schmidt. 

He  and  I  adjourned  to  the  tap-room,  where  he 
insisted  on  treating  me  to  drinks  and  supper. 

156 


ARISTOKIA 

"You  must  try  Frieda's  cooking,"  he  said. 
"Frieda,  Hamburger  steak  smothered  in  onions, 
with  noodles — your  wonderful  noodles,  Frieda." 

When  Frieda  had  gone  to  the  kitchen,  Willy 
told  me  that  he  had  been  quite  drunk,  and  had 
in  a  quaint  moment  instructed  his  pilot  to  go  to 
the  moon.  The  man  had  obeyed  orders  to  the 
best  of  his  ability,  and  had  mounted  higher  and 
higher.  The  intense  cold  had  partly  sobered 
Willy  and  made  him  change  his  mind.  They  had 
rushed  downward  madly,  almost  plunging  head- 
long to  the  ground.  Willy  was  astounded  that 
he  too  had  not  been  overcome  by  the  sudden 
change  in  the  atmospheric  pressure. 

In  an  unguarded  moment  I  remarked  that  one 
so  used  as  he  to  dwelling  in  high  places  would  not 
be  affected.  He  looked  at  me,  startled.  But  I 
went  on,  forgetful  of  the  fact  that  I  was  not  sup- 
posed to  know  who  Herr  Schmidt  really  was. 

"How  did  you  know  me*?"  he  asked,  quite 
crestfallen.  "I  am  in  citizen's  clothes.  I  am 
disguised." 

Disguised  I     With  that  face  I  I  thought. 

157 


ARISTOKIA 

"I  have  recently  been  a  tourist  in  Aristokia,**  I 
said  out  loud.     "Your  Highness  is  unforgetable." 

"  'Sh  I"  he  hissed,  and  seized  my  arm.  "Not 
'your  Highness'  here!  Call  me  Schmitty,"  he 
said,  smiling  at  me. 

I  told  him  that  my  name  was  Smith.  He  in- 
sisted that  we  were  brothers,  and  must  always  be 
Schmitty  and  Smithie  to  each  other. 

I  asked  him  if  he  was  in  the  habit  of  slipping 
out  in  this  way  and  if  he  did  n't  think  it  was 
rather  risky.  I  suggested  that  I  might  report  him 
to  the  International.  He  became  plaintively  af- 
fectionate.    He  took  my  hand. 

"Not  you,  Smithie  I  I  can  see  it  in  your  eyes. 
You  are  a  good  fellow." 

I  agreed,  and  we  drank  to  it.  The  drinks  were 
from  a  private  stock  that  Willy  kept  in  the  cellar 
of  the  inn  in  order  to  circumvent  the  universal 
prohibition  law.  Although  the  American  prohi- 
bitionists had  finally  succeeded  in  imposing  their 
ideals  on  the  rest  of  mankind,  the  enforcement  of 
the  law  was  very  lax  in  those  portions  of  central 
Europe  adjoining  Aristokia. 

158 


ARISTOKIA 

Then  Frieda  came  in  with  the  results  of  her 
culinary  efforts.  They  were  delicious.  And  how 
Willy  ate,  with  his  whole  mind  and  soul  on  the 
job  I  I  decided  then  and  there  never  to  let  him 
know  that  I  was  the  discoverer  of  the  food  cap- 
sule. 

As  the  meal  progressed,  Schmitty  became  loqua- 
cious. He  liked  them  plump,  he  said,  looking 
fatuously  at  Frieda,  who  squirmed  and  giggled. 
In  Aristokia  when  they  were  young  they  were 
very  thin,  and  when  they  grew  old  they  got  very 
fat.  The  difficulty  seemed  to  be  to  catch  them  be- 
twixt and  between.  The  Royal  Blues  were  a 
stuffy  lot.  They  bored  him.  But  Frieda  was 
human;  I  was  human.  The  Royal  Blues  wanted 
him  to  marry  his  Cousin  Sophia. 

"Have  you  seen  her^"  he  groaned.  "Some  day 
a  dog  will  bury  her  in  the  garden,  mistaking  her 
fi^r  his  bone." 

He  told  me  that  a  party  headed  by  Baron  Wig- 
leigh  wanted  him  to  marry  Gwendolyn.  My 
heart  turned  a  somersault  at  mention  of  her 
name. 

159 


ARISTOKIA 

"What  do  you  think  of  her*?"  I  asked,  with 
suppressed  excitement. 

"She  's  beautiful,  I  suppose;  but  she  has  ideas 
and  brains.     Women  with  brains  annoy  me." 

Poor  Willy  I  Gwendolyn  evidently  frightened 
him. 

"No,  if  I  have  my  way,  I  shall  marry  Sophia, 
and  I  will  get  Frieda  into  the  palace  as  a  nurse 
or  something,     I  can't  do  without  Frieda." 

Toward  dawn  Willy  and  Frieda  became  affec- 
tionate, and  I  discreetly  effaced  myself,  and  went 
for  a  stroll  on  the  lawn  in  the  cool  morning  air. 
As  I  passed  a  window  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  Herr 
Schmidt.  Frieda  was  sitting  on  his  lap.  There 
sat  the  descendant  of  the  Hun,  of  the  scourge  of 
Europe.  To  this  had  come  the  race  that  almost 
conquered  the  world.  Strange  are  the  ways  of 
nature,  I  thought. 

I  went  to  bed,  and  slept  until  about  noon,  un- 
molested by  Hindenburg. 

When  I  returned  down-stairs  I  found  Willy, 
and  we  lunched  together.  He  was  now  quite 
sober,  but  very  affable.     It  was  no  good  trying 

160 


ARISTOKIA 

to  remember  that  his  grandfather  had  attempted 
to  get  past  Verdun,  that  his  great-grandfather  had 
plunged  the  world  into  war,  or  that  he  was  de- 
scended from  the  dismemberer  of  Poland.  He 
was  just  a  charming  idiot,  and  I  could  not  help 
liking  him. 

He  asked  me  my  plans.  Was  I  returning  to 
America?  My  plans  were  very  hazy.  I  did  not 
want  to  go  home.  The  thought  of  home  and  the 
long  wait  for  the  next  tourist  season  made  some- 
thing go  numb  inside  me.  Willy  wanted  to  know 
if  I  could  fly.  I  told  him  I  had  driven  my  own 
plane  for  years. 

"The  doctor  says  my  pilot  will  be  laid  up  for 
at  least  four  weeks.  You  know  my  habits, 
Smithie,  and  I  like  you  immensely.  How  would 
you  like  to  be  my  pilot?  The  pay  is  very  good." 
Then  he  added  quickly.  "Forgive  me  if  the  prop- 
osition offends  you." 

It  did  not  offend  me.     I  jumped  at  it. 

"There  are  certain  formalities,"  Willy  ex- 
plained, delighted  by  my  acceptance.  "There  is 
a  nuisance  of  a  pilot's  union.     You  must  go  to 

161 


ARISTOKIA 

town,  pay  your  dues,  and  be  enrolled.  Later  I 
will  come  down  and  pick  you  out." 

I  put  on  my  auto-peds  and  went  to  the  union 
at  full  speed.  I  was  in  an  ecstasy  of  exultation. 
Aristokia  and  Gwendolyn  again  I  Blessed  be  the 
Hohenzollerns  I 

As  I  neared  the  office  of  the  union,  however, 
the  thought  of  possible  complications  gave  me 
pause.  I  felt  sure  that  the  success  of  my  peti- 
tion would  be  seriously  handicapped  by  my  pre- 
vious acquaintance  with  Mr.  Michael  Fogarty.  I 
must  contrive  to  avoid  that  gentleman  at  all  costs. 

Fate  smiled  on  me.  The  bellicose  Irishman 
was  secretary  of  the  Household  Servitors'  Union. 
The  Pilots'  Union  was  an  entirely  different  matter. 
The  two  offices  were  not  even  in  the  same  build- 
ing. 

The  formalities  were  quickly  arranged.  I 
found  them  mere  red-tape, — just  at  that  time 
there  was  a  shortage  of  pilots, — and  in  less  than 
an  hour  I  was  in  possession  of  a  coveted  union 
card  and  a  license. 

That  night  I  flew  past  the  frontier  guards  and 
162 


ARISTOKIA 

re-entered  the  land  of  romance  as  the  chief  pilot 
of  Prince  William  Hohenzollern,  Emperor-Elect 
of  Aristokia. 

Just  before  we  landed,  Willy  remarked  cas- 
ually: "Don't  call  me  Schmitty  in  front  of 
people,  and  be  sure  you  use  every  one's  title  cor- 
rectly. They  are  sticklers  about  such  things 
here." 

"By  the  way,  may  I  grow  a  mustache  and 
beard?"  I  asked  him. 

He  was  a  little  surprised  at  my  strange  request. 
He  smiled,  then  acquiesced,  and  patting  me  af- 
fectionately on  the  back,  he  sneaked  into  his  palace 
by  a  secret  entrance.  The  liaison  door,  he  called 
it.  I  soon  discovered  that  all  houses  in  Aristokia 
were  provided  with  these  emergency  exits,  and 
very  useful  they  were,  too. 


163 


CHAPTER  X 

AS  Willy's  chief  pilot,  I  saw  the  inside  of 
Aristokia  as  no  tourist  could  have  seen  it 
in  a  hundred  visits.  I  discovered,  to  my  great 
joy,  that  the  Aristokians  treated  not  only  the 
chaperons  and  Boswells  but  all  servitors  as  if  they 
were  non-existent.  They  discussed  their  most 
intimate  affairs  in  my  presence. 

I  had  been  back  in  Aristokia  a  week  without 
having  had  an  opportunity  to  see  Gwendolyn  or 
communicate  with  her  in  any  way.  I  had  flown 
over  the  Wigleigh  mansion  and  grounds,  but  had 
never  caught  a  glimpse  of  her.  I  was  getting 
desperate. 

Then  Willy  decided  that  it  was  time  for  a  little 
trip  to  Frieda.  I  left  him  with  her,  and  flew  back 
to  Aristokia  to  get  our  oilskins,  which  I  had  pur- 
posely forgotten,  although  a  storm  had  been  fore- 
cast  for   the   following   day.     Knowing   that   I 

164 


ARISTOKIA 

should  not  be  needed  for  at  least  twenty-four 
hours,  I  remained  in  Aristokia. 

At  breakfast  time  the  next  morning  I  flew 
over  the  sun-room.  I  had  intended  dropping  a 
note  through  the  opening,  but  it  was  a  rather  cold 
morning  and  the  glass  was  closed  over.  I  made 
circles  high  above  the  room  and  watched  the  fam- 
ily at  breakfast.  Gwendolyn  left  the  table  be- 
fore mama  or  papa.  I  continued  to  fly  about, 
however,  hoping  that  she  might  return  after  they 
had  left,  and  that  in  some  way  I  might  be  able 
to  attract  her  attention;  but  she  did  not  come 
back. 

I  was  about  to  give  up  in  despair  when  some- 
thing made  me  look  toward  the  hangars.  There 
I  saw  one  of  the  Wigleigh  planes  emerging  and 
recognized  it  as  the  small  one  that  Gwendolyn 
used.  The  pilot  brought  it  to  the  entrance.  I 
waited.  Fearing  that  he  might  be  watching  me, 
I  pretended  to  be  working  over  my  engine. 

Presently  she  came  out  of  the  door,  accom- 
panied by  her  chaperon.  She  was  going  out 
alone.     My  chance  had  come  at  last.     I  put  the 

i6s 


ARISTOKIA 

engine  out  of  commission  and  volplaned  down  to 
rest  beside  her  machine. 

Stepping  up  to  her  pilot,  I  explained  my  fic- 
titious trouble  and  asked  for  certain  tools.  When 
I  removed  my  headgear,  Gwendolyn  emitted  a 
little  cry.  The  chaperon's  quick  warning  checked 
her,  and  regaining  her  self-possession,  she  directed 
the  man  to  go  to  the  hangar  for  what  I  needed. 

"Jack,  you  darling  I  You  have  come  back  to 
me  I"  Her  eyes  were  moist  and  sparkling,  and 
in  my  heart  there  was  a  wild  tumult. 

I  told  her  briefly  of  my  strange  meeting  with 
Willy.     How  she  laughed  I 

Then,  as  the  man  reappeared,  she  said,  "Come 
to  the  garden  to-night." 

She  flew  away  immediately.  I  fooled  a  bit 
with  the  engine,  as  a  precaution  in  case  any  one 
had  observed  me,  and  then,  after  replacing  the 
tools  in  the  hangar,  went  my  way. 

The  stonn  arrived  that  night  on  schedule  time. 
The  wind  howled  and  moaned  through  the  trees, 
lashing  the  cold  rain,  which  fell  in  sheets,  into 
fine  spray. 

166 


ARISTOKIA 

The  garden  was  dark  and  filled  with  the  sound 
of  dripping  foliage.  The  soggy  earth  was  cov- 
ered with  a  slippery  carpet  of  fallen  leaves. 
Gwendolyn  and  I  clung  to  each  other  in  the  dark 
and  exchanged  cold,  wet  kisses.  Water  dripped 
off  her  lovely  hair  and  ran  down  my  neck  in  chilly 
little  rivulets.  She  shivered.  I  held  her  close, 
and  water  oozed  out  of  our  clothes  as  from  a 
sponge.  But  we  did  not  care.  We  would  have 
stood  there  hours  unmindful  of  the  elements, 
aware  only  of  our  love,  hearing  only  each  other's 
heart-beats.  But  the  chaperon  reminded  us  that 
papa  and  mama  were  at  home  and  that  on  such 
a  night  there  could  be  no  excuse  for  Gwendolyn 
to  be  out  in  the  garden. 

We  made  hurried  plans  for  future  meetings. 
We  arranged  that  in  so  far  as  my  duties  as  Willy's 
pilot  would  permit,  I  was  to  fly  over  the  sun-room 
at  a  certain  time  each  day.  Gwendolyn  would 
contrive  to  be  there,  and  we  would  then  exchange 
signals  as  to  whether  we  could  meet  in  the  garden 
that  night. 

During  the  ensuing  weeks  we  spent  many  bliss- 
167 


ARISTOKIA 

ful  hours  together.  Never  once  in  the  half-dozen 
meetings  did  we  speak  or  even  think  of  the  future. 
We  lived  in  the  glamour  of  an  exquisite  present, 
enjoying  its  sweets  with  the  unquestioning  sim- 
plicity of  children. 

Then  one  day  Willy  informed  me  that  his  pilot 
was  well  again,  and  that  he  felt  in  duty  bound 
to  take  the  man  back  into  his  service.  He  hated 
to  part  with  me,  and  would  miss  me,  but  no  doubt 
I  was  desirous  of  returning  to  America.  He 
handed  me  a  che^k  at  parting.  It  was  a  little 
present,  he  said,  a  bonus  for  my  faithful  services. 
I  did  n't  want  to  accept  it. 

"Please  take  it,"  he  urged.  "You  have  a  right 
to  it,  I  assure  you." 

I  glanced  at  it,  and  then  felt  no  further  com- 
punction. Photographed  on  my  mind's  eye  was 
an  imperial  edict,  first  brought  to  my  attention 
by  two  over-sensitive  bell-boys.  The  check  was 
a  dividend  Willy  had  just  received  from  the  Im- 
perial Aristokian  Tipping  Monopoly,  Inc. 

That  evening  I  told  Gwendolyn  that  I  must 
leave  Aristokia  and  begged  her  to  fly  with  me. 

168 


ARISTOKIA 

She  had  other  plans.  She  was  dissatisfied  with 
her  pilot, — she  would  engage  me  in  his  place.  I 
consented.  My  beard  was  by  this  time  a  luxuri- 
ant growth.  In  my  flying-togs,  with  close-fit- 
ting headgear  and  goggles,  I  was  unrecognizable. 
And  I  should  not  often  come  in  contact  with  any 
of  the  household.  Besides,  I  was  no  longer  a 
tourist  but  a  duly  enrolled  servitor  under  the 
segis  of  the  Pilots'  Union.  I  felt  reasonably 
safe.  It  would  be  time  enough  to  take  Gwen- 
dolyn away  with  me  when  our  affair  was  discov- 
ered, which  I  felt  was  an  inevitable  eventuality. 
Sooner  or  later  we  should  grow  careless  and  be 
caught.  Then  there  would  be  fireworks  and  a 
hasty  exit.  Our  surreptitious  meetings  appealed 
to  my  sense  of  adventure,  and  though  I  did  not 
realize  it  at  the  time,  the  atmosphere  of  Aris- 
tokia  was  a  narcotic  which  had  dulled  the  edge 
of  my  ambitions  and  sent  my  youthful  dreams 
into  the  limbo  of  forgotten  things. 

Before  I  could  enter  Gwendolyn's  service,  it 
was  necessary  that  I  be  formally  interviewed  by 
the    baron.     Although    my    beard    had    greatly 

169 


ARISTOKIA 

changed  my  appearance,  and  I  knew  that  the 
baron's  attitude  to  a  person  of  my  class  would  be 
quaintly  indifferent,  it  was  not  without  many 
qualms  that  I  knocked  at  the  door  of  his  study 
one  morning  at  about  ten  o'clock.  He  was  seated 
at  his  desk,  toying  with  some  papers.  I  breathed 
a  sigh  of  relief  when  I  found  that  the  officious 
Ambrose  Tibbits  was  not  present. 

I  stood  for  several  minutes,  and  he  said  no 
word.  Becoming  very  restless,  I  coughed.  He 
looked  up. 

"Have  you  a  cold*?"  he  remarked  casually. 

"No,  your  Lordship." 

"Then  don't  cough.  It 's  so  beastly  mislead- 
ing." 

He  returned  his  stare  to  his  papers.  I  was  un- 
recognized. 

"I  'm  the  new  pilot,"  I  ventured. 

"Oh,  yes.     Can  you  fly?" 

"Expertly,  your  Lordship." 

"Expertly, — m'm.  Think  of  that  I  It's  al- 
ways struck  me  as  being  rather  a  bore.     You  have 

170 


"Would  _\uur  lordship  care  to  see 


nu    rctiTenci,- 


ARISTOKIA 

to  keep  your  mind  en  the  bally  thing,  don't  you*? 
I  tried  it  once." 

"Would  your  Lordship  care  to  see  my  refer- 
ence?" I  inquired,  drawing  the  letter  from  Willy 
out  of  my  pocket  and  handing  it  to  him.  He 
glanced  over  it. 

"His  Highness  is  enthusiastic,"  he  remarked, 
and  added,  "I  sha'n't  hold  that  against  you,  my 
man."  He  gave  the  letter  back  to  me.  "You 
don't  drop  your  h's,  do  you?" 

"Oh,  no,  your  Lordship," 

"That 's  rather  unfortunate.  The  best  serv- 
itors always  do.  However,  I  suppose  it  is  n't  a 
really  necessary  accomplishment  for  a  pilot — " 

"Is  everything  satisfactory  then,  your  Lord- 
ship?" 

"When  you  say  everything^  I  presume  you  re- 
fer to  yourself." 

I  nearly  smiled.  This  characteristic  utterance 
carried  me  back  to  the  day  I  had  been  his  Bos- 
well. 

"Yes,  your  Lordship." 
171 


ARISTOKIA 

''Commendable  egotism,"  he  drawled. 

I  thought  the  interview  was  over.  I  started  to 
bow  myself  out  when  the  baron  arose,  came 
around  the  desk,  adjusted  his  monocle,  and  stared 
at  me. 

"Where  have  I  seen  you  before?" 

"Driving  Prince  Wilhelm's  plane,  your  Lord- 
ship," I  replied  quickly. 

"No;  you  are  vaguely  associated  in  my  mind 
with  some  unpleasant  disturbance." 

Good  Lord  I  Was  he  going  to  remember  the 
ground  glass  in  his  coffee,  of  all  things?  I  must 
have  needed  a  shave  the  morning  of  my  memorable 
plunge.     He  shook  his  head. 

"You  are  strangely  reminiscent  to  me;  but, 
then,  all  you  Smiths  look  alike."  He  waved  his 
hand  with  his  typical  weary  gesture  to  signify 
that  the  interview  was  at  an  end.  Then  it  was 
that  I  made  a  fatal  blunder.  I  should  have  re- 
mained silent.     Instead,  I  spoke. 

"Good-by,  your  Lordship." 

Once  before  I  had  used  these  words  to  the  baron, 
and  the  sound  of  my  voice  must  have  awakened 

172 


ARISTOKIA 

memories;  for  he  started,  and  adjusted  his  monocle 
more  securely. 

"That  voice!"  he  murmured,  then  called  me 
back  into  the  room.  He  looked  at  me  with  a 
kindly  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"Is  n't  your  name  Bos  well?"  he  asked  me. 

For  an  instant  I  had  a  mad  impulse  to  say 
yes,  but  my  native  caution  overcame  my  senti- 
ment and  I  answered: 

"No,  Smith,  your  Lordship;  John  Smith." 

"Ah,  yes,  Smith;  not  Boswell.  Too  bad.  I 
like  the  name  Boswell." 

I  could  n't  look  him  in  the  eyes  again,  so  I 
slipped  out  quietly  and  closed  the  door. 


173 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  FEW  days  later  the  baron  achieved  the  pre- 
liminary step  in  the  realization  of  his  great 
ambition. 

Under  pressure  from  the  learned  men  of  science 
the  Royal  Blues  surrendered,  and  agreed  to  the 
betrothal  of  Lady  Gwendolyn  to  the  emperor- 
elect,  Prince  Wilhelm,  for  the  good  of  the  country 
and  for  the  enrichment  of  the  glorious  Hohen- 
zollern  blood. 

The  event  was  celebrated  by  a  grand  function 
at  Wigleigh  Hall.  The  baron  and  his  wife 
fairly  oozed  triumph.  They  patronized  every- 
body. The  wedding  was  to  take  place  imme- 
diately following  Willy's  coronation,  which  was 
a  month  distant. 

During  the  ball  Schmitty  slipped  out  on  the 
terrace  to  smoke  a  cigarette  in  solitude.  I  ran 
into  him,  and  he  seized  my  arm  and  poured  out 

174 


ARISTOKIA 

his  heart-ache.  I  had  had  an  opportunity  to  study 
Gwendolyn,  acting  as  her  pilot,  he  said.  What 
did  I  think  of  her^  She  was  terribly  Anglo- 
Saxon,  wasn't  she^  She  would  never  consent 
to  his  relations  with  Frieda.  He  would  be  hor- 
ribly henpecked ;  he  knew  it.  She  was  an  Amazon. 
I  laughed  inwardly  at  this  conception  of  my  little 
Gwendolyn.  I  tried  to  comfort  poor  Willy.  I 
assured  him  that  all  would  be  well;  for  I  was 
secretly  determined  that  just  before  the  ceremony 
the  bride-elect  should  mysteriously  disappear. 

There  were  other  forces  at  work  regarding 
which  I  was  at  the  time  only  vaguely  cognizant. 
If  I  had  not  been  so  utterly  in  love  with  Gwen- 
dolyn and  had  studied  Aristokian  politics  a  bit, 
I  should  have  observed  that  there  was  an  oppo- 
sition to  the  Royal  Blues,  and  that  the  permanent 
leader  of  the  opposition  was  Prince  Juan  do 
Braganza. 

Don  Juan,  as  he  was  generally  called,  had  a 
tremendous  following.  Such  was  his  magnetism 
that  even  the  army  of  wronged  husbands  of  his 
own  making  were  numbered  among  his  stanchest 

175 


ARISTOKIA 

adherents.  It  was  said  in  Aristokia  that  Juan 
could  take  away  your  wife  and  make  you  thank 
him  for  it,  he  did  it  so  graciously. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Prince  do  Braganza 
would  have  made  an  exceedingly  popular  em- 
peror. Unfortunately,  a  Russian  ballet-dancer 
had  become  entangled  in  the  upper  branches  of  his 
family  tree.  This  little  incident  in  the  senti- 
mental career  of  one  of  his  ancestors  rendered 
him  ineligible  for  the  imperial  office. 

This  limitation  to  his  ambitions  was  a  thorn 
in  the  side  of  Juan.  For  many  years  he  had 
been  waging  a  fruitless  campaign  to  induce  the 
obdurate  Royal  Blues  to  overlook  the  dash  of  the 
terpsichorean  in  his  blood.  They  realized  that 
to  alter  the  law  would  be  to  end  the  supremacy 
of  the  Teutonic  princes. 

Juan  was  not  merely  an  exquisite,  though  he 
was  that  par  excellence.  He  was  also  a  warm- 
blooded Latin,  a  fire-eater,  quick-witted  and 
brilliant,  but  inordinately  vain,  excessively  digni- 
fied, and  totally  lacking  in  a  sense  of  humor. 
He  loathed  the  Germans  not  merely  because  they 

176 


He  seized  my  arm   and  poured   out   his   heart-ache 


ARISTOKIA 

blocked  his  ambitions  but  because  he  could  not 
understand  them.  Poor  Willy  he  called  "the 
Fish." 

When  the  Royal  Blues  decided  that  Willy 
should  marry  Gwendolyn,  Juan  raised  a  storm  of 
protest.  To  appease  him  they  created  the  new 
title  of  Marshal  of  Aristokia,  which  they  con- 
ferred on  him.  With  the  title  went  privileges 
and  powers  second  only  to  those  of  the  emperor. 

It  was  not  customary  in  Aristokia  for  an  en- 
gaged girl  to  be  seen  in  public  with  any  man 
other  than  her  fiance.  Juan  had  been  showing 
marked  attention  to  Gwendolyn  and  he  con- 
tinued to  do  so  despite  her  betrothal  to  Willy. 
He  claimed  this  as  one  of  the  prerogatives  of 
Marshal  of  Aristokia. 

It  then  became  my  painful  duty  to  take  Juan 
and  Gwendolyn  for  long  flights  in  her  airplane. 
In  order  to  hear  what  they  were  saying  I  would 
fly  to  a  great  height,  shut  off  the  engine,  and  soar 
about. 

One  day  Juan  calmly  informed  her  that  he 
was  tired  of  breaking  up  homes   and   winning 

177 


ARISTOKIA 

duels;  that  he  intended  to  settle  down  and  get 
married,  and  that  it  was  Gwendolyn  whom  he 
intended  to  marry.  I  waited  breathlessly  to 
hear  what  she  would  say. 

"Juan,  I  '11  marry  you," — I  almost  upset  the 
plane, — "the  day  you  become  Emperor  of 
Aristokia." 

"Is  that  a  bargain'?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

"On  my  word  of  honor,"  replied  Gwendolyn. 
"Smith!" 

"Yes,  your  Ladyship^"  I  managed  to 
say. 

"You  hear  that?     You  are  the  witness." 

"Yes,  your  Ladyship." 

What  the  devil  was  the  inscrutable  Gwen- 
dolyn up  to,  I  wondered.  After  we  left  Juan 
at  his  palace,  I  asked  her  if  she  was  trying  to 
make  me  jealous.  She  looked  at  me  roguishly 
and  laughed. 

"I  'm  going  to  become  Empress  of  Aristokia." 

"By  marrying  Juan?  You  can  do  that  by 
marrj'ing  Willy."  Of  the  two,  I  much  preferred 
Willy. 

178 


ARISTOKIA 

"No,  I  mean  empress  in  my  own  right,  with 
you  as  my  consort,"  she  added. 

"You  're  mad,  Gwendolyn.  It 's  impos- 
sible." 

"Nothing  is  impossible,"  she  said  with  utter 
conviction. 

She  made  me  promise  to  help  her.  li  Gwen- 
dolyn had  said,  "Get  me  the  moon,"  I  would 
have  tried. 

As  the  first  step  in  her  plans  she  sent  me  to 
see  Prince  Juan,  to  put  myself  at  his  disposal, 
and  to  tell  him  all  I  knew  about  Willy's  secret 
conduct. 

Gwendolyn  had  previously  informed  Juan 
that  Boswell  and  I  were  one  and  the  same  person. 
She  explained  my  strange  actions  and  my  pres- 
ence in  her  house  with  a  marvelous  lie,  which 
Juan,  ordinarily  the  most  skeptical  of  men, 
swallowed  whole  because  Gwendolyn  had  told  it 
to  him.  In  life  there  is  always  some  one  person 
whom  even  the  most  confirmed  doubting  Thomas 
trusts,  and  usually  it  is  this  one  who  betrays  him. 
Gwendolyn's  story  had  it  that  I  was  a  super-spy 

179 


ARISTOKIA 

engaged  by  her  to  gather  information  detrimental 
to  the  prestige  of  individual  Royal  Blues. 

So  it  was  in  this  role  that  I  went  to  see  Prince 
Juan  and  told  him  about  Willy  and  Frieda,  feel- 
ing like  a  traitor  the  while. 

On  my  arrival  at  the  Braganza  Palace  I  was 
ushered  into  the  prince's  study,  an  exquisite  room, 
just  then  filled  with  books,  pell-mell  all  over  the 
place.  While  I  waited  for  the  prince, — he  was 
in  his  dressing-room  making  his  tenth  change  of 
uniform  that  day, — I  looked  at  the  books.  "The 
Life  of  Napoleon,"  "Napoleon  the  Third," 
"Napoleon  the  Little,"  "The  History  of  a 
Crime,"  "The  Russian  Revolution,"  "The  Portu- 
guese Revolt,"  "The  Coup  d'Etat  in  France" — 
these  were  a  few  of  the  titles.  It  was  easy  to 
gather  their  significance.  Juan  was  planning  a 
bloodless  revolt,  a  coup  d'etat. 

He  came  in  dressed  in  a  soft  gray  uniform,  his 
study  uniform,  he  explained  to  me.  Its  tones 
were  an  aid  to  thought.  He  made  me  sit  down 
and  offered  me  a  cigarette.  He  was  cordial  and 
charming.     He  smilingly  recalled  our  previous 

180 


ARISTOKIA 

meeting  when  I  had  been  Boswell,  and  com- 
mented tolerantly  on  the  baron's  eccentricities. 
He  admired  and  eulogized  my  disguise,  advising 
that  the  baron  must  never  know  that  I  was  Bos- 
well. I  agreed  with  him,  as  the  baron  was  not  a 
party  to  the  conspiracy  and,  moreover,  wanted 
Gwendolyn  to  marry  Willy.  The  mere  mention 
of  this  matter  sent  Juan  into  a  tirade  of  fine  irony. 

Suddenly  he  looked  at  me. 

"Do  you  know.  Smith,  I  suspected  you  of  being 
a  vulgar  tourist  in  love  with  Lady  Gwendolyn." 

He  laughed,  and  showed  even  white  teeth.  I 
laughed,  too.     It  was  a  good  joke. 

He  outlined  his  plans  to  me.  The  technic  of 
the  thing  was  absurdly  simple.  One  merely 
eliminated  all  the  opposing  elements  at  the 
psychological  moment,  and  then  was  acclaimed 
emperor  by  the  balance  of  the  people,  who  were 
favorable  and  who  had  been  duly  rehearsed  in 
their  spontaneous  demands. 

On  the  eve  of  Willy's  coronation  I  was  to  in- 
duce him  to  pay  Frieda  a  farewell  visit.  She 
was  to  give  him  an  overdose  of  garlic,  onions, 

181 


ARISTOKIA 

and  sauerkraut  and  make  him  miss  his  appoint- 
ment with  his  crown.     That  much  was  easy. 

"But  what  about  the  Royal  Blues?"  I  asked 
the  prince. 

His  plans  for  them  were  delightful.  He  told 
me  that  Princes  Romanoff  and  Bonaparte,  both 
Royal  Blues,  were  with  us,  Romanoff  for  purely 
personal  reasons.  The  Hohenzollerns  and  the 
Hapsburgs  mutually  controlled  the  Royal  Blues, 
and  they  had  consistently  elected  members  of 
their  own  families  to  the  throne  and  kept  the 
Romanoffs  out.  Nicholas  as  the  head  of  that 
family  resented  this  and  was  determined  on  re- 
venge. Bonaparte  found  a  coup  d'etat  an  ir- 
resistible temptation  on  its  own  merits  or  demerits. 
Had  not  his  illustrious  ancestors  all  but  invented 
the  art?  He  was  willing  to  concede  the  lead- 
ing part  in  the  impending  drama  to  Juan  because 
he  knew  that  Braganza's  tremendous  popularity 
insured  the  success  of  a  scheme  which  would  un- 
horse the  Germans,  whom  the  Frenchmen  loathed 
whole-heartedly. 

182 


ARISTOKIA 

Prince  Romanoff  was  to  give  a  party  exclu- 
sively for  Royal  Blues.  It  was  to  be  a  stag  af- 
fair in  the  "Babylonian  District,"  as  a  certain 
part  of  the  city  was  called.  The  queen  of  the 
district  at  that  time  was  a  French  woman  whose 
pseudonym  was  "The  Lily."  The  Lily  was 
desperately  in  love  with  Juan.  She  would  die 
for  him,  "many  terrible  deaths,"  she  had  said. 
So  the  Lily  was  to  be  enlisted  as  special  hostess 
for  the  occasion.  It  was  to  be  a  hal  masque^ 
which  all  the  Royal  Blues  would  attend  and  re- 
garding which  they  would  be  very  circumspect  in 
the  matter  of  publicity.  Once  they  were  there, 
it  would  be  merely  a  matter  of  keys  and  guards 
to  hold  them. 

Of  the  remaining  elements  the  vast  majority 
was  overwhelmingly  for  Juan;  for  each  man  in 
the  country  realized  that  if  Juan  could  become 
emperor,  it  would  establish  a  precedent  and  let 
down  barriers,  so  that  he,  too,  might  achieve  the 
great  ofRce. 

On  the  morning  of  the  great  day  the  entire 

183 


ARISTOKIA 

city  was  to  be  placarded  with  notices  signed  by 
the  marshal,  informing  the  public  that  by  leaving 
the  country  Willy  had  abdicated  his  rights  to  the 
throne,  and  that  the  Royal  Blues  had  disgraced 
themselves  and  the  nation  by  their  orgies,  for  the 
good  people  were  to  be  told,  with  glowing  details, 
of  this  escapade.  The  army  was  to  assemble  in 
the  great  square  of  the  palace.  Juan  was  to  re- 
view them ;  that  was  a  part  of  the  regular  corona- 
tion ceremony.  At  a  given  signal  from  Prince 
Bonaparte,  the  ranking  royalty  and  only  Royal 
Blue  present,  they  were  to  go  wild  with  en- 
thusiasm and  acclaim  Juan  the  emperor.  Napo- 
leon would  point  out  that,  according  to  the  im- 
perial by-laws,  on  this  day  and  at  this  hour  a 
ruler  must  be  elected;  the  clergy  and  the  women 
would  be  appealed  to  on  ethical  grounds  to  de- 
nounce the  flagrant  immoralities  of  the  absent 
Royal  Blues.  Juan  would  then  take  the  crown 
from  the  paralyzed  archbishop  in  truly  Na- 
poleonic manner,  the  master  of  ceremonies  would 
kiss  him  on  the  cheek,  and  he  would  be  emperor! 
Could  anything  have  been  simpler? 

184 


ARISTOKIA 

To  my  amazement  the  coup  d'etat  ran  like  a 

well-oiled  machine,  without  a  groan  or  a  creak. 

There  was  only  one  hitch,  but  that  hitch  is  the 
crux  of  my  story. 


185 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  Lily  of  the  Babylonian  District  had  a 
key  to  Juan's  liaison  door,  which  was 
located  on  the  roof  of  his  house  and  led  by  a 
spiral  staircase  directly  into  his  bedroom. 

I  got  the  key  from  the  Lily.  I  gave  it  to 
Gwendolyn.     And  thereby  hangs  the  tale. 

Juan  had  placed  me  in  charge  of  all  the  menials 
of  his  establishment.  When  he  had  retired  for 
the  night  on  the  eve  of  the  great  day,  I  marshaled 
them  together  and  sent  them  all  off  on  various 
futile  errands. 

Juan  himself  laid  out  his  coronation  uniform 
with  meticulous  care,  and  then  disrobed  slowly, 
his  mind  obsessed  with  the  glories  of  the  morrow. 
He  donned  his  old-fashioned,  cutaway  nightgown 
in  which  he  always  slept,  and  in  which  he  was  not 
a  thing  of  beauty.  He  was  standing  thus  attired 
when  suddenly  Gwendolyn  appeared  before  him. 
She  had  entered  by  the  liaison  door. 

186 


ARISTOKIA 

"Gwendolyn!"  he  cried,  "what  arc  you  doing 
here?"  He  clutched  a  military  cape  wildly  and 
draped  it  over  himself.  "Where  's  your  chap- 
eron?" he  went  on  frantically. 

Gwendolyn  sat  down  in  an  easy-chair  with  the 
nonchalance  of  one  making  an  afternoon  call. 

"How  funny  you  look,  Juan  I"  He  grabbed 
the  exquisite  coat  of  his  wondrous  coronation  uni- 
form and,  sinking  into  a  chair,  flung  it  over  his 
ciliated  limbs. 

"Where  is  your  chaperon?"  he  repeated. 

"You  know  that  big  elm  up  on  the  hill?"  she 
asked,  watching  him  with  intense  amusement. 
"Well,  I  was  flying  very  low.  Fraulein  got 
caught  in  the  branches.  She  's  probably  climbed 
down  by  now.  Don't  worry  about  her,  Juan. 
She  's  an  agile  little  creature." 

"I  don't  give  a  damn  about  her  I  It's  you 
I  'm  thinking  of.  Do  you  realize  what  you  have 
done?" 

Gwendolyn  ignored  him  and  continued 
sweetly:  "Some  day  after  we  are  married  I  will 
have  Fraulein  climb  for  you,  Juan  dear." 

187 


ARISTOKIA 

"I  don't  want  to  see  her  climb,  and  we  shall 
never  be  married."     He  was  petulant. 

Gwendolyn  rose  and  clutched  her  bosom  with 
a  dramatic  gesture. 

"Juan,  not  marry  me  I  What  are  you  say- 
ing?" 

He  held  his  head  in  his  hands  and  rocked  it 
sidewise. 

"Ah,  queridisima^  I  loved  you  so  I  Why  have 
you  done  this  terrible  thing?  You  have  spoilt 
my  glorious  day  for  me  I  Ah,  frailty,  thy  name 
is  woman!  Could  you  not  have  waited  twenty- 
four  little  hours?  To-morrow  we  were  to  have 
been  married.  My  charms  are  a  curse  I  I  am  so 
irresistible  I  But  I  had  thought  that  you^  you  at 
least — oh,  queridisimal  queridisima!'" 

Gwendolyn  threw  back  her  head  and 
laughed. 

"Don't  laugh,  Madame  I"  he  exclaimed  tragic- 
ally, jumping  up  in  outraged  dignity,  forgetting 
his  bare  legs  and  his  beautiful  coat,  which  lay 
rumpled  at  his  feet.  "Don't  laugh  I  Do  you 
realize  what  you  are?" 

188 


ARISTOKIA 

"What  am  I,  Juan*?"  she  asked  with  unalloyed 
wonder  and  innocence. 

"You  have  come  to  my  rooms  at  midnight,  un- 
chaperoned.  In  the  eyes  of  the  world  you  are  a 
fallen  woman." 

"But  the  world  need  never  know,  Juan." 

"Ah,  but  it  will  know,"  he  persisted.  "It  has 
some  subtle  way  of  always  finding  out  these 
things.  How  can  an  emperor  marry  you  now'? 
Madame,  you  are  ruined!" 

"But,  Juan  dear,  you  know  I  'm  not  ruined. 
You  will  tell  them,"  she  said  softly,  "and  they 
will  believe  an  emperor^ 

Juan  staggered.     He  nearly  fainted. 

"What  you  ask  me  is  too  much,  too  much  I  I 
would  willingly  die  for  you,  queridisima^  but  not 
that!" 

"But  why  not,  Juan*?"  she  argued. 

"No,  no,"  he  said,  with  the  emphasis  of  a  man 
putting  away  a  frightful  temptation  to  commit 
some  dishonorable  act,  "it  cannot  be.  If  you  are 
in  my  rooms  and  escape  unharmed,  what  is  to  be- 
come of  my  reputation^     /,  the  Don  Juan,  the 

189 


ARISTOKIA 

gay  Lothario — I  should  be  the  laughing-stock  of 
Aristokia.  There  are  some  things  that  a  man  of 
honor,  and  a  gentleman,  that  a  great  prince,  can- 
not do  even  for  the  woman  he  loves.  What  you 
ask  is  impossible." 

There  followed  a  weighty  pause. 

Gwendolyn  then  gave  a  perfectly  good  imita- 
tion of  a  woman  who  has  fainted.  This  new 
development  caused  Juan  abject  discomfiture. 
He  took  one  of  her  limp  hands  in  his  and  patted 
it  helplessly. 

She  half  opened  one  eye. 

"Water  I"  she  murmured. 

Juan  went  to  the  bath-room  to  get  some.  The 
moment  his  back  was  turned,  Gwendolyn  sprang 
up,  and  leaping  stealthily,  closed  the  door  and 
locked  it.  Juan  was  a  prisoner  in  his  own  bath- 
room. 

Then  she  came  to  the  foot  of  the  spiral  stair- 
case and  called  me  down  into  the  room. 

When  Juan  found  himself  locked  in  he  pleaded 
with  Gwendolyn,  then  he  called  loudly.  He 
shouted,   and  pounded   the   door.     He   tried   to 

190 


ARISTOKIA 

break  it  down,  but  it  was  too  well  built.  He 
called  Gwendolyn  every  name  under  the  sun,  and 
when  he  had  exhausted  all  the  possibilities  of 
English,  he  lapsed  into  the  more  expressive 
Portuguese,  in  which  he  swore  vociferously — 
beautiful,  succulent  oaths,  richly  blooming  with 
luscious  vowels,  and  thunderously  reverberant 
oaths  filled  with  thorny  r's.  Then  he  hissed  a 
pell-mell  of  s's  and  z's.  Like  a  waterfall  they 
came,  toppling  over  one  another.  It  was  a  great 
performance. 

Meanwhile  Gwendolyn  and  I  went  about 
silently,  carefully  and  methodically  collecting 
certain  things.  We  bundled  our  stolen  goods  to- 
gether and  flew  away. 

But  long  before  we  left  the  fury  of  the  storm 
in  the  bath-room  had  subsided,  and  only  an  occa- 
sional, distant,  muttering  rumble  broke  the  silence 
of  exhaustion. 

Toward  dawn,  at  the  risk  of  his  life,  Juan 
climbed  out  of  the  bath-room  window,  and,  grop- 
ing his  way  along  the  narrow  cornice,  entered  his 
bedroom  by  smashing  a  pane  of  glass. 

191 


ARISTOKIA 

Rage  had  given  place,  through  the  long  vigil 
of  the  night,  to  a  quiet  determination  to  beat  this 
counter-conspiracy,  whatever  it  might  be.  Noth- 
ing could  stop  him  from  being  emperor,  he  told 
himself. 

He  began  to  dress  with  all  his  accustomed  care. 
When  he  was  ready  to  put  on  his  trousers  he 
could  not  hnd  them.  His  whole  coronation  uni- 
form had  disappeared.  So  that  was  the  plot — to 
deprive  him  of  the  pleasure  of  wearing  his  beauti- 
ful, artistic  creation  on  which  a  genius  had 
labored  for  a  month  I  It  was  a  petty  revenge, 
just  like  a  woman.  Though  he  was  chagrined, 
he  could  rise  above  such  things.  Distasteful  as 
it  was  to  him,  he  could  wear  one  of  his  other  uni- 
forms. 

He  got  out  the  coat  of  the  uniform  he  had  worn 
to  the  ball  at  the  Wigleighs.  The  trousers  were 
missing.  He  swore  softly.  He  got  out  the  coat 
of  another  and  another  and  another,  and  always 
the  trousers  were  missing.  He  pulled  out  the 
coats  of  his  ninety-nine  uniforms,  but  we  had 
done  our  work  well.     Every  pair  of  trousers  was 

192 


ARISTOKIA 

gone.  Juan  became  frantic.  He  began  to  rave 
like  a  maniac.  He  pulled  things  about  in  cha- 
otic confusion  in  his  frenzied  quest  for  trou- 
sers. 

After  an  hour  of  vain  searching  the  will  to  con- 
quer was  still  dominant.  He  would  borrow  a 
pair  of  trousers  from  one  of  the  servants. 
Mother  of  Heaven,  that  he  should  come  to  this! 
But  he  would  do  it.  During  a  noble  reign  he 
could  perhaps  live  it  down. 

There  were  no  servants.  The  house  was 
empty,  and  nowhere  could  he  hnd  a  pair  of 
trousers.  A  terrible  fear  seized  him.  He  tried 
the  wireless  to  get  into  communication  with  his 
followers,  but  I  had  it  put  out  of  commission  be- 
fore leaving. 

"God  of  my  fathers,  incommunicado  and 
trouserless !"  he  cried  in  anguish.  His  fear  and 
sense  of  defeat  settled  on  him  in  a  black  shroud 
of  dull  despair. 

Ten  thousand  curses  on  tne  family  tradition 
that  had  made  him  adhere  to  the  wearing  of 
nightgowns  I     He  could  at  least  have  gone  in 

193 


ARISTOKIA 

pajamas.  But  how  could  he^  the  best-dressed 
man  in  Aristokia,  attend  his  coronation  in  under- 
wear I  He  had  been  most  foully  betrayed.  It 
was  the  end  of  his  glorious  career.  A  man  with- 
out trousers  is  a  man  undone. 

Then  self-pity  seized  him,  and  he  sat,  an  abject 
figure  in  flannel  underwear,  and  sobbed. 

Meanwhile  Juan's  coup  d'etat  was  running  its 
appointed  course  with  the  immutability  of  the 
stars  in  their  orbits. 

The  army  assembled  in  the  great  square  of  the 
palace,  but  instead  of  Juan  to  review  them,  there 
appeared  in  the  full  regalia  of  his  coronation  uni- 
form a  radiant  creature  with  hair  of  tarnished 
gold. 

As  she  sprang  lightly  and  gracefully  to  the 
coronation  platform,  her  every  movement  pro- 
claiming the  glory  of  her  freedom  and  emancipa- 
tion from  petticoats,  the  buzz  of  fifty  thousand 
voices  died  away  like  the  murmur  of  a  breeze, 
and  an  intense,  expectant  silence  fell  upon  the 
great  square. 

She  spoke  in  clear,  ringing  tones.  Like  crys- 
194 


ARISTOKIA 

tallized  sound  her  words  fell  on  the  cars  of  the 
multitude. 

"My  Lords  and  Ladies  of  Aristokia,  Prince 
Wilhelm  has  by  his  absence  at  this  august 
moment  abdicated  his  right  to  the  imperial  throne. 
The  Royal  Blues  are  debauching  with  scarlet 
women.  Prince  Juan  do  Braganza  cannot  come 
to  you.  Some  one  with  a  knowledge  of  his 
limitations  has  robbed  him  of  his  trousers. 
Mere  man  that  he  is,  he  dare  not  appear  before 
you  without  them.  Mere  woman  that  I  am,  I 
have  dared  to  come  to  you  in  them.  Judge,  oh, 
great  people,  if  I  am  not  more  qualified  than  he 
to  reign  over  you  I" 

A  thrilling  pause,  and  then  the  tumult  broke. 
Prince  Louis  Napoleon  Bonaparte  had  given  the 
signal.  From  the  throats  of  ten  thousand  gen- 
erals, colonels,  captains,  and  a  very  few  young 
lieutenants  a  mighty  roar  arose.  Even  the  rented 
privates  joined  in  the  shouting.  The  army  of 
Aristokia  acclaimed  Gwendolyn  empress.  Some- 
where within  each  man  there  stirred  the  primor- 
dial desire  to  be  ruled  by  a  woman. 

195 


ARISTOKIA 

Bonaparte  was  as  surprised  as  any  one  at  the 
outcome  of  his  coup  d'etat^  but  the  change  in  lead- 
ing characters  greatly  pleased  him.  A  gallant 
gentleman,  and  a  Frenchman,  he  could  not  refuse 
a  woman  anything  she  asked.  And  besides,  now 
that  Juan's  goose  was  cooked,  Napoleon  had  a 
vision  of  himself  as  Emperor  of  Aristokia  by  mar- 
riage. He  was  not  alone  in  possession  of  such 
illusions.  As  each  man  in  the  great  square  gazed 
at  Gwendolyn's  loveliness,  he  saw  himself  at 
least  the  favorite  of  her  court.  A  wondrous 
dream  of  love  and  power  unfolded  to  each  one, 
as  he  mingled  his  voice  with  his  fellows'  in  lusty 
cheering. 

All  about  the  great  plaza,  among  the  civilian 
population,  there  were  little  eddies  and  whirl- 
pools of  confusion  and  dismay,  as  shocked  and 
outraged  dowagers  fainted  and  plopped  their 
stout  persons  into  the  arms  of  the  nearest  males. 
One  of  the  first  to  pass  out  was  Mama  Wigleigh. 
The  baron  dropped  his  monocle  for  the  first  time 
in  many  years  and  muttered,  "Good  God  I"  with 
a  semblance  of  real  emotion. 

196 


ARISTOKIA 

Events  were  moving  rapidly.  Gwendolyn 
snatched  the  imperial  crown  from  the  archbishop, 
who  had  been  gazing  at  her  fondly.  The  man  of 
God  trembled,  and  muttered  a  hurried  prayer  for 
the  salvation  of  his  soul. 

The  senile  and  doddering  master  of  ceremonies 
kissed  her  lingeringly  on  each  cheek  as  forty  years 
melted  from  him.  And  the  thing  was  done  I 
The  coup  d'etat  had  become  a  fait  accompli. 
Gwendolyn  was  Empress  of  Aristokial 


197 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  first  act  of  the  new  monarch  was  to 
abrogate  the  exclusive  powers  of  the  Royal 
Blues  and  to  constitute  a  few  faithful  followers 
her  sole  advisers.  I  was  admitted  to  citizenship 
in  Aristokia,  and  then  in  the  course  of  a  single 
hour  became  successively,  Sir  John  Smith  Bart., 
Baron  Smith,  Viscount  Smith,  Earl  of  Capsula, 
Marquis  of  Capsula,  Duke  of  Capsula,  and  finally 
Prince  John.  This  tedious  procedure  was  neces- 
sary, as,  according  to  the  imperial  by-laws,  titles 
could  be  conferred  only  one  degree  at  a  time. 
Fortunately  the  by-laws  had  neglected  to  men- 
tion anything  about  a  lapse  of  time  between 
grades,  so  we  did  it  as  quickly  as  we  could. 
Baron  Wigleigh  and  his  wife  were  made  Grand 
Duke  and  Grand  Duchess  of  Wigleigh,  as  be- 
came the  parents  of  an  empress. 

That  night  at  the  great  coronation  ball  in  the 
imperial    palace     Gwendolyn     announced     that 

198 


ARISTOKIA 

Prince  John  was  to  be  her  consort.  To  my  utter 
amazement,  they  swallowed  me,  an  ex-Smith,  an 
ex-pilot,  an  ex-plebeian,  an  ex-Nobody,  without  a 
murmur.  It  proved  what  I  have  always  con- 
tended, that  in  the  first  days  after  a  ruler's  as- 
sumption of  office  he  can  get  away  with  any- 
thing. 

Gwendolyn  had  exchanged  the  uniform  for  an 
alluring  gown.  She  was  the  incarnation  of 
delectable  femininity.  The  men  vied  with  one 
another  in  their  expressions  of  loyalty  and  admir- 
ation. The  women  accepted  the  inevitable  as 
graciously  as  possible,  for  they  feared  her.  Even 
the  once  all-powerful  Royal  Blues  came  and 
knelt  at  her  feet  and  asked  forgiveness  for  their 
misdeeds,  for  Prince  Romanoff  had  made  their 
acceptance  of  the  new  order  the  sine  qua  non  of 
their  release. 

Juan  did  not  appear.  He  was  under  a  physi- 
cian's care.  He  had  been  found  wandering  about 
in  his  underwear,  one  side  of  his,  face  badly 
scorched.  He  had  tried  to  commit  suicide,  for- 
getting in  the  excitement  of  the  moment  that  the 

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ARISTOKIA 

International  permitted  only  blank  cartridges  in 
Aristokia. 

He  sent  Gwendolyn  this  note: 

Madame,  I  humbly  salute  the  great  office  Your  Majesty 
holds,  but  we  Braganzas  never  forget. 

When  every  one  had  left,  and  the  royal  family 
was  alone, — that  is  to  say,  mama,  papa,  Gwen- 
dolyn, and  I, — we  had  a  quiet  celebration  to  our- 
selves. 

The  baron  and  his  wife  had  quickly  recovered 
from  their  first  shock,  and  were  now  basking  in 
the  warmth  of  their  reflected  honors.  During 
the  ball  the  baron,  or,  rather,  the  grand  duke, 
had  barely  grunted  a  greeting  to  any  one  below 
the  rank  of  prince.  But  now  he  slapped  me  on 
the  back  and  treated  me  with  effusive  cordiality. 

Although  I  had  shaved  my  beard,  he  seemed 
not  to  recognize  me.  He  called  me  "your  High- 
ness," and  told  me  his  pet  hobby  was  heraldry, 
and  suggested  that  if  I  would  do  him  the  honor, 
he  would  be  glad  to  help  me  choose  an  ap- 
propriate coat  of  arms. 

200 


ARISTOKIA 

"I'm  so  glad  you  followed  my  suggestion  and 
took  Capsuia  as  your  family  name,"  he  said.  'It 
will  enable  us  to  create  a  most  interesting  coat  of 
arms.  Every  good  coat  of  arms,  ancient  or 
modern,  is  based  on  the  thing  which  brought  the 
family  prominence  and  elevated  it  to  the  peerage. 
All  the  devices  you  see  in  heraldry  are  symbols 
of  some  service  performed  by  the  owner  of  the 
device  for  the  sovereign.  The  more  elatf rate 
coats  of  arms,  if  you  can  translate  their  insignia, 
become  veritable  graphic  histories  of  the  families 
that  use  them." 

Papa  was  warming  to  his  pet  subject.  He 
fixed  his  monocle  in  his  characteristic  way,  ig- 
nored his  wife's  intimation  that  they  should  leave, 
and  proceeded: 

"If  we  wish  to  keep  the  spirit  of  the  thing,  it 
would  be  absurd  for  us  of  the  newer  nobility  to 
adopt  lions,  eagles,  battle-axes,  griffins,  gauntlets, 
and  all  such  medieval  paraphernalia.  Our  coats 
of  arms  should  be  created  in  the  same  fashion  as 
was  the  older  heraldry.  I  suggest  for  your 
Royal  Highness  a  large  gold  capsule,   rampant 

201 


ARISTOKIA 

on  a  field  of  azure.  Blue  is  spaciousness — the 
world.  Gold,  wealth.  The  capsule  could  be 
divided  into  little  sections,  each  containing  some 
smaller  symbol  representing  strength,  health, 
and  life.  Then  you  should  have  a  motto.  It 
should  be  in  some  foreign  language  which  you 
don't  understand." 

"I  don't  understand  any,"  I  said.  "You  have 
the  field  to  choose  from." 

"I  think  Spanish  is  as  silly-sounding  as  any  of 
them,"  remarked  the  baron,  "and  the  Marl- 
boroughs  have  a  Spanish  motto.  'De  mal  gusto, 
pero  comestible,'   would  look  well." 

"What  does  it  mean^"  I  asked. 

"It  is  truthful,"  he  said,  with  an  odd  twinkle 
in  his  eyes.  "And  the  fact  that  you  chose  it  for 
your  motto  will  add  to  your  fame  wherever  cap- 
sules are  used." 

I  suspected  that  the  baron  was  spoofing  me 
with  this  cryptic  reply.  I  secured  a  translation, 
and  then  I  knew  it;  for  this  was  my  motto,  "Of 
bad  taste,  but  edible." 

As  I  talked  with  the  baron  I  became  convinced 
202 


ARISTOKIA 

that  he  did  not  remember  me,  and  as  he  said  good 
night  to  me  almost  with  affection  and  with  a  trace 
of  the  father-in-law-to-be  in  his  manner,  I  could 
not  help  musing  on  the  extraordinary  vagaries  of 
his  mind. 

In  the  doorway  he  stood  aside  a  moment  while 
a  blissfully  bewildered  grand  duchess  endangered 
her  equilibrium  by  a  farewell  curtsy  to  her  em- 
press daughter.  The  baron  (I  cannot  think  of 
him  as  the  grand  duke)  bowed  low,  and  then, 
returning  to  an  upright  posture,  a  look  almost  of 
boyish  amusement  on  his  face,  said,  "The  greatest 
honor  of  my  life  will  always  be  that  your  Royal 
Highness  was  once  my  Boswelll" 

Two  flunkies  drew  the  great  tapestried  portieres 
and  departed.  Gwendolyn  and  I  were  alone  at 
last  except  for  the  three  imperial  chaperons,  for 
we  were  not  yet  married. 

She  was  exultant  with  victory.  I  tried  as 
tactfully  as  I  could  to  point  out  to  her  that  it 
could  not  last.  Juan  would  be  revenged.  Even 
Bonaparte     and     Romanoff,     friendly     as     they 

203 


ARISTOKIA 

seemed,  might  not  long  remain  so.  She  had 
shown  the  way.  From  then  on  there  would  be 
a  succession  of  revolutions  in  Aristokia.  Gwen- 
dolyn denied  it  vehemently.  Every  one  adored 
her.  She  insisted  that  she  could  handle  Juan  and 
the  others. 

"I  believe  you  can  hold  them  indefinitely, 
Gwendolyn,  if  you  remain  a  virgin  queen,"  I  said; 
"but  not  if  you  marry  me.  You  must  choose 
between  empire  and  love.  You  cannot  have 
both.     No  one  has  ever  had  both." 

"But  I  can't  live  without  you,"  she  said,  draw- 
ing me  close  to  her. 

"Then  you  must  give  this  up,"  I  replied,  gently 
withdrawing  from  her  embrace.  I  wanted  to 
keep  my  senses  if  I  could.  "Come  away  with  me, 
darling,  to  America,"  I  pleaded.  "There  are 
greater  victories  awaiting  us  there,  perhaps  not  so 
spectacular,  but  bigger,  deeper,  more  lasting." 

Those  last  few  days  of  intense  activity  had  re- 
kindled my  slumbering  ambitions.  I  was  fired 
with  new  hope,  courage,  and  determination.     I 

204 


ARISTOKIA 

had  learned  a  great  lesson  in  Aristokia,  and  I  was 
eager  to  apply  it  in  the  world  beyond. 

For  more  than  an  hour  I  pleaded  with  Gwen- 
dolyn to  go  with  me  and  help  me  to  right  the 
wrongs  of  humanity;  to  give  her  great  inspiration 
to  my  life  work,  to  undo  the  bungling  mistakes  of 
the  would-be  reformers  of  the  early  twentieth 
century.  But  her  mind  and  heart  were  fixed  on 
golden  days  in  Aristokia. 

I  said  good  night  and  left,  pretending  to  sub- 
mit to  her  will.     I  had  decided  on  action. 

I  flew  to  Saal  and  found  Willy  contentedly 
munching  food  as  usual.  I  began  my  confession 
humbly.     He  silenced  me. 

"Smithy,  you  have  done  me  a  great  favor.  I 
can  never  repay  you.  I  am  going  to  stay  here 
always  and  help  Frieda  run  the  inn,  and  eat  her 
food,"  he  added. 

"But  your  throne,  Willy — " 
He  laughed. 

"Emperor  of  Aristokia,  by  grace  of  the  workers 
of  the  world  I"  he  said  derisively.     "No,  Smithy. 

205 


ARISTOKIA 

My  great-grandfather  said,  'World  dominion  or 
downfall'  when  he  started  the  Great  War.  He 
lost,  and  I  have  no  choice  but  downfall — with 
Frieda." 

And  so  I  left  him,  the  last  of  the  Hohen- 
zollerns,  happily  eating  sauer-kraut. 

I  returned  to  the  imperial  palace,  my  mind 
made  up. 

To  understand  my  next  move,  you  must  re- 
member that  I  was  at  that  time  an  assiduous 
student  of  the  dramatic  literature  of  the  Broad- 
way period.  I  knew  my  Bayard  Veillers,  my 
Max  Marcin,  George  Scarborough,  and  Samuel 
Shipman  by  heart.  In  this  emergency  I  knew  I 
should  resort  to  "knock-out  drops."  But  I  had 
none.  Failing  this  classic  remedy,  I  used  the 
modern  substitute:  as  Gwendolyn  slumbered 
sweetly,  I  hypnotized  her. 

While  she  was  in  this  state  of  hypnosis  I  made 
her  sign  the  articles  of  abdication  that  I  had  pre- 
pared. I  myself  left  the  following  valedictory  for 
the  people  of  Aristokia. 


206 


ARISTOKIA 

There  is  only  one  person  temperamentally  fitted  and 
mentally  equipped  to  rule  over  you,  His  Royal  Highness 
the  Grand  Duke  George  of  Wigleigh. 

I  signed  it  royally,  "John." 

I  then  strapped  Gwendolyn  into  my  plane  and 
flew  away  with  her,  leaving  Aristokia  to  awake 
to  a  day  of  chaos. 


207 


CHAPTER  XIV 

WE  flew  southward  over  the  snowy  battle- 
ments of  the  Alps;  over  the  quiet, 
smiling  fields  of  France;  the  Pyrenees;  Spain; 
Portugal. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  I  brought  the  machine  to 
rest  on  a  sandy  stretch  of  beach  on  the  Portuguese 
coast,  I  had  not  awakened  Gwendolyn,  for  I 
knew  the  deep  hypnotic  sleep  was  a  balm  to  her 
tired  nerves.  I  myself  was  exhausted,  so  I 
snatched  three  hours'  sleep,  which  sufficiently  re- 
freshed me  to  continue  the  journey. 

During  the  long  night  I  flew  westward  over 
the  Atlantic  at  a  terrific  speed.  I  was  far  south 
of  the  regular  transatlantic  routes  and  sighted 
few  other  planes.  I  passed  over  the  most 
westerly  of  the  Azores  at  about  midnight. 

When  the  dawn  came,  a  vast  sea  of  rolling, 
billowy  cloud  lay  beneath  us.  The  gray  rim  of 
the  world  was  touched  here  and  there  with  the 

208 


ARISTOKIA 

lavender  and  pale  pink  of  nascent  day.  Shafts 
of  flame  shot  through  the  clouds,  and  we  seemed 
to  be  flying  over  the  crater  of  an  immense  vol- 
cano filled  with  seething  lava. 

As  the  sun  climbed  higher,  the  clouds  rose  up 
in  wreaths  and  spirals,  white,  ghostly  figures 
whirling  with  outstretched,  tapering  arms  to  the 
sky.  Vapor  enfolded  us.  Then  far  beneath, 
through  the  canons  of  mist,  the  sea  appeared, 
blue-green,  sinuous,  restless,  and  reptilian.  I 
flew  lower.  The  ocean  was  a  shattered  mirror 
in  the  sunlight. 

The  day  wore  on.  As  the  sun  set,  the  white 
towers  of  New  York  appeared.  It  had  been  a 
record  trip  even  for  me,  five  thousand  miles  in 
thirty-six  hours. 

We  passed  over  Staten  Island,  over  the  Monu- 
ment of  Freedom,  that  colossal  piece  of  sculp- 
ture designed  by  the  great  American  Barnard, 
and  erected  to  symbolize  the  freedom  of  the 
world. 

I  circled  around  the  great  figures,  a  man  and 
woman,  both  nude,  the  man,  brute  strength  with 

209 


ARISTOKIA 

a  face  that  dreamed;  the  woman,  joyous,  half- 
bacchante,  half-madonna,  holding  aloft  a  child. 
From  their  sides  gigantic  chains  went  crashing 
downward,  and  at  their  feet,  sinking  into  the 
rock,  were  crowns,  scepters,  money-bags,  the  little 
figures  of  tyrants  and  capitalists;  broken  swords, 
rifles,  and  cannon,  the  wreckage  of  a  world  mili- 
tarism. 

It  was  a  glorious  conception,  but  what  a  mock- 
ery! I  thought.  This  freedom  it  personified  did 
not  exist.  Like  all  great  works  of  art,  Barnard's 
masterpiece  was  ahead  of  the  facts  of  life. 

We  passed  over  the  old  Statue  of  Liberty.  I 
suppose  it,  too,  had  been  ahead  of  the  thing  it 
symbolized. 

Then  New  York  I  My  blood  tingled  as  I  flew 
uptown,  high  above  the  top  tier  of  Broadway. 
Already  at  that  date  the  third  level  was  devoted 
entirely  to  auto-ped  traffic,  and  the  middle  of  the 
street  was  filled  with  tiny  black  figures  rushing 
northward.  The  north-bound  moving  platforms 
were  also  crowded,  the  south-bound,  desolate. 
Same  old  New  York ! 

210 


ARISTOKIA 

Gwendolyn,  whom  I  had  awakened  early  in  the 
morning  that  she  might  see  the  sunrise,  was  gaz- 
ing at  the  city  beneath  her,  awestruck. 

"It 's  a  great  sight  when  you  see  it  for  the  first 
time,  is  n't  it^"  I  shouted. 

Perhaps  she  did  n't  hear  me,  for  she  did  n't 
answer.  All  day  she  had  not  opened  her  lips 
except  to  swallow  some  of  my  despised  capsules. 

T  shut  off  the  engine  and  volplaned  gently 
downward,  coming  to  rest  in  a  great  grassy  space. 

"Where  are  we*?"  murmured  Gwendolyn. 

"Van  Cortlandt  Park,  in  the  center  of  New 
York  city,"  I  answered  her. 

She  turned  to  me  with  truly  Aristokian  disre- 
gard of  the  gaping  bystanders,  threw  her  arms 
about  my  neck,  and  kissed  me  ecstatically,  croon- 
ing, "Jacky,  you  darling!  I  'm  so  happy  I  I  al- 
ways wanted  you  to  bring  me  here  this  way.  I 
love  you  so!     You  are  wonderful !" 

The  crowd  of  idlers  giggled.  These  four-hour 
day  laws  have  just  filled  New  York  with  people 
with  nothing  to  do,  I  thought  angrily  as  I  lifted 
Gwendolyn  out. 

.  211 


ARISTOKIA 

I  checked  the  machine,  and  we  hurried  to  the 
nearest  registrar's  office,  at  the  busy  corner  of 
Broadway  and  242nd  Street.  We  passed  the 
physical  examination  with  flying  colors,  secured 
our  license,  and  were  legally  mated  within  an 
hour. 

In  tne  years  that  followed,  our  great  happi- 
ness was  slightly  marred  by  the  disappointments 
I  encountered.  I  was  still  young,  and  had  not 
learned  that  the  world  cannot  be  reformed  by 
one  man,  in  a  day  or  in  a  century. 

I  am  an  old  man  now  as  I  write  this  record  of 
my  youthful  romance  and  adventure.  The  flame 
of  impatient  enthusiasm  that  burned  in  my  veins 
fifty  years  ago  has  waned  and  died  out,  and  in  its 
place  are  peace  and  understanding. 

I  have  seen  many  changes,  much  astounding 
progress;  and  yet  the  millennium  is  as  far  off  to- 
day as  no  doubt  it  seemed  one  hundred  years 
ago.  It  will  be  ever  thus,  I  think.  Life's  hori- 
zon is  always  the  limit  of  our  vision  advancing 
before  us  as  we  grope  onward — perfection,  the 
ever-present  mirage.     A  century  is  less  than  a  sec- 

212 


ARISTOKIA 

ond  of  time  in  life's  eternal,  colossal  unfoldment. 
We  individual  units  are  only  minutiae  in  the  Great 
Being  that  lives  in  the  spaces  of  infinity. 

How  infinitesimal  is  the  accomplishment  even 
of  the  greatest  of  us  I 

Once  long  years  ago  I  called  myself  an  "in- 
ventor." It  is  a  fatuous  word  that  we  have  at 
last  discarded,  and  for  which  we  have  substituted 
the  more  modest  "discoverer."  We  rearrange  the 
facts  at  our  disposal  in  some  new  complexity,  that 
is  all. 

Those  of  you  who  still  think  you  can  mold  the 
world  as  if  it  were  potter's  clay  will  call  me  a 
pessimist,  but  I  protest.  I  am  an  unconquerable 
optimist.  I  believe  in  the  ultimate  purpose  of 
life.  We  must  strive  to  understand  it  and  add 
our  mite  in  the  right  direction.  If  we  fail,  life 
will  smash  us  and  pass  us  by. 

Knowledge  and  foresight  are  the  great  virtues. 
Look  back  with  me.  If  only  men  one  hundred 
years  ago  had  foreseen  the  Great  War;  if  only  my 
own  America  had  foreseen  and  prepared  for  her 
entrance  into  the  great  conflict;  if  only  during  the 

213 


ARISTOKIA 

war  men  everywhere  had  foreseen  and  prepared  for 
the  coming  of  the  Revolution  or  the  peace;  if  only 
the  signing  of  the  armistice  had  not  been  a  sig- 
nal for  the  relegation  to  the  realm  of  splendid 
memories  of  all  the  moral  heroisms  born  of  the 
war's  travail;  if  only  men  could  have  realized, 
as  they  argued  terms  of  peace  and  settlement,  that 
the  Great  War  was  only  the  prologue  in  a  world 
drama  which  they  thought  ended  when  it  had 
just  begun,  how  different  things  might  be  to- 
day I 


214 


'/ 


5H 


I>?,t>, 


I 


